


Sign Of The Times

by mariuspondmercy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallen Angel, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, exrweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-15 16:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuspondmercy/pseuds/mariuspondmercy
Summary: When the Angel Enjolras steps out of line once too often, he is thrust upon Earth, struggling to make sense of anything. Everything is vastly different and scary, but he counts himself lucky to have found a group of people who seem to be more like angels than he ever was.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Elise for letting me work with her idea of Fallen Angel Enjolras. The first chapter features weirdly many references to religion but I promise it'll get a little less in the other chapters. 
> 
> Written for the exrweek2017 in 6 installments.  
> Day 1 - Painting

His limbs were heavy, unusually so. There was a pounding in his head, someone drilling into his skull over and over again. Nausea was slowly making its way up through his body. The underground felt… off. It wasn’t how he usually slept – not that he slept much, there was no need for it. His cloud was soft, he could barely feel it against the exposed skin of his arms and calves. But this? Now? Something rough was creating friction against his skin, was chaffing it raw. Everything was too heavy, too harsh. A shrill ringing broke Enjolras’ musing – was it real or imagined? But it didn’t stop, nothing stopped. After a while, Enjolras realised that the sound was coming from somewhere close. Ever so slowly, Enjolras blinked open his eyes. Once his gaze focused, he sat up with a jolt.

The fall.

Enjolras remembered. He remembered the cold feeling in his bones, the ice flowing through his veins when God spoke the words which condemned him. Sitting up, Enjolras reached for the telephone on the night stand.

“Hello?” He croaked out, voice strained as if he’d been yelling.

“Good morning, Monsieur,” a cheery voice greeted him. “This is your requested wake-up call at 6am sharp. Please remember, check-out is at 11am. Enjoy the rest of your stay.”

The click in the line announced the end of the call, leaving Enjolras staring wide-eyed at the phone in his hand. Everything felt so, so wrong. He let out a small gasp, surprised more at the fact that he had to breathe than because of anything else. Back in Heaven, breathing had not been necessary. But here? It felt heavy, like there was a weight sitting on his chest, compressing his lungs, not allowing enough air to flow through such a human body.

Enjolras rose from the bed, feeling the pressure of air weighing him down. He had observed humanity for many, many centuries, watched their every move, watched their triumphs and downfalls, yet had never considered the strain Earth took on their feeble bodies. A few steps to cross over to the mirror.

He supposed this is what he had always looked like, but he couldn’t say. Heaven had no mirrors, your self was reflected in your actions and through the light you shone. In Heaven, Enjolras supposed, everyone looked the same and no one looked similar. They were God’s creatures, made after God’s image, like humanity itself. But seeing himself in a mirror for the first time – Enjolras found no words to describe the feeling. He delicately touched his dark, full lips, his high cheekbones and the light brown scar gracing his eyebrow. From when I fell from the swing, his mind filled in. Was this normal? Making up stories, a history, a past for his now human self? His fingers found their way into his curly hair, blond and big and soft to the touch. Everything was so soft, his skin was so vulnerable. He twisted his body, trying to see the spot where he knew his wings must be. There were none, of course. Gone, to complete the image of a mortal. The skin on his back was a little prickly; there were two thick, fresh scars where his wings used to be.

Enjolras swallowed thickly. So this was it. He had truly been cast out of heaven. It happened, once in a while, not very often. He only knew of two other angels, and one had been cast out at the same time Enjolras had.

Montparnasse.

Enjolras must find him. There was no way around it! How else would he start a new life? It wasn’t that he particularly liked Montparnasse – quite the contrary – but Montparnasse was the only one who could understand. Nothing told him if Montparnasse had even landed where he had… where even was he?

After a quick search through the hotel room, Enjolras found a wallet. It contained some money, Euros, so he could narrow down the time and place he was currently living in. Which language had the person spoken on the phone? He couldn’t remember. Rifling through the rest of the contents, Enjolras found an ID. Raphaël Enjolras, born in Strasbourg, France, currently living in Paris. So he had a place to live? Maybe that should be his starting point.

Enjolras got dressed and checked out of the hotel. He had no idea where to go to, which direction to turn. How did humans handle this uncertainty all the time? It exhausted him. Walking exhausted him. He was so slow, his muscles ached and his bones hurt. Was this how every human felt? His scars itched, his hands grew cold. Shoving them into the pockets of his jacket, Enjolras sighed. Maybe he would wander Paris a little, get accustomed to its atmosphere. Maybe he could pick up Montparnasse somehow. Back home—in Heaven, back in Heaven it was possible to sense angels, make out where your friends were if you concentrated just right. Surely God couldn’t have been so cruel as to take that ability from him? How else was he supposed to best this new life if not with a companion at his side? But there was nothing, no feeling. He couldn’t locate Montparnasse and a feeling of utter loneliness rose in Enjolras’ chest. He sat down on a bench by the river for a moment, taking a deep breath.

The riverside was beautiful, alight with flowers of all sorts. Not many people were around yet, leaving Enjolras to survey the landscape in all its beauty. In the distance, he saw a church rising high above the water. Two towers looming over the city like watchful eyes, drawing Enjolras magnetically towards them. Maybe Notre-Dame would answer his most pressing questions. How could God just abandon someone? Cast them aside like they were nothing? Hadn’t he deserved a second chance? Had he not tried his very best to be perfect?

Enjolras felt the air grow heavier with the rising temperature of the morning as his feet took him towards the cathedral. Walking on Earth felt like watching people wade through water. His movements were sluggish, sometimes he didn’t lift his feet high enough the ground. The air felt like an invisible power pushing against him, its mere existence just to spite Enjolras and his new life. Maybe God could be reasoned with, once Enjolras had reached Notre-Dame. Surely God wouldn’t turn a blind eye if Enjolras spoke in this majestic house?

The closer Enjolras got to the looming cathedral, the bigger the dread within him grew. A shudder ran through his body when his feet crossed the threshold, as if something or someone wanted to physically prevent him from entering. Dizziness rushed to his head, the pounding from earlier starting again. Feeling his consciousness slip, Enjolras leaned against one of the pillars to regulate his breathing again. He observed the light shining in through the colourful windows, longed to touch the rays and warm himself in their wake. The patterns danced on the floor, blue bleeding into red into purple. Up in Heaven they didn’t have such trivial spectacles, such small wonders. It was fascinating to observe, drawing Enjolras closer and closer until his feet hit the light on the ground.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he whispered into the beam, “but if you can, please give me a sign. Don’t abandon me like you abandoned Lucifer. I only tried my best! I know I am not allowed to tell anyone, I know the rules but please, where is Montparnasse? Please, just give me a sign,” he pleaded, dropped to his knees by now, head hanging low.

No sign came, except for a darkening of the light. Surely some clouds must’ve blocked the sun. Enjolras had never felt so utterly lost in all of eternity. A true fall from grace. He didn’t know how long he knelt on the hard floor, but when he left the cathedral, there were significantly more people out on the streets. The second Enjolras left Notre-Dame, he felt finally free to breathe again. Maybe being an outcast had some kind of effect – he’d never really thought of it before. Maybe that was the punishment, that he could never get close to God’s house again. Did he even want that? After all that had happened, even before his banishment, did he really want to rely on a God like that? It wasn’t even about Christianity, no, because he was an Angel of Heaven. An Angel belonging not to one God but to every God there was in Heaven, in some sort of Afterlife. Was there really a point now? Of course, he couldn’t stop believing as he knew God to exist even though not in a physical form.

Enjolras grew dizzy from all the thoughts flitting around his mind, never settling, never agreeing. His head was spinning; he could hear the blood rushing in his veins. Was this how humans always felt? Their minds were constantly busy, they were always thinking, planning, organising. He admired them, he truly did.

Enjolras was ripped out of his thoughts by a quiet noise and a soft buzzing at his back. He furrowed his brows, quickly looking inside his backpack, which he hadn’t inspected further yet. Silly. He should’ve really searched through everything he’d found in the hotel room immediately to figure out his new life. Enjolras took out the mobile phone, pressing the button on the side to reveal the message. How he knew how to do that he didn’t know. It just came naturally, like his idea from where he’d gotten the scar.

[Unknown Number] _Hey, this is Marius, your new roommate. Just wanted to let you know that your stuff arrived here. Do you know when you’ll be at the flat? I look forward to meeting you!_

Huh. So someone had taken good care of him, given him an excuse instead of an established life. Now there was no need to pretend he had memories of their times together. Enjolras only hoped Montparnasse was given the same treatment, wherever he might be in this world.

[Enjolras] _Hello Marius, I am on my way._

Right. Now there was the issue of finding the address on the back of his ID. Maybe there was a sort of map on the phone? He concentrated on the little icons, finally tapping the one he was looking for. Maybe observing humans had taught him something; maybe this was something he knew by heart, given to him by whatever Angel was looking down on him now, struggling and fumbling his way through the world of the mortals.

Half an hour later – and a few near-collisions with people while staring down at the phone and figuring out how to navigate through Paris – Enjolras finally rang the doorbell of one Marius Pontmercy. He smiled a little at finding his own name on their already. What a thoughtful person. Enjolras was quickly buzzed in, making his way to the second floor of the building.

“Hello,” a lanky young man greeted him, beaming smile on his lips. “Come on in. Welcome to your new home.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras smiled back, stepping into the small flat.

“So, I-uhm, I didn’t know if you were hungry so I didn’t prepare breakfast. Maybe you want to settle in first and I’ll get us something? Are you hungry? Do you want to see your room first? Probably, yes, follow me.”

Marius led him down the short hallway to the room at the very back.

“This is yours. I’m glad you agreed to keep Courfeyrac’s furniture, that makes it easier for all of us. And there’s also your stuff which has been delivered yesterday. I leave you to it now. The bathroom is on your right, you can’t miss it. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

“Thank you so much,” Enjolras smiled.

After Marius left the room, he closed the door and looked around. Apparently he had things now. Maybe clothes? Curiosity got the best of him and he unpacked the delivery, indeed finding clothes as well as some history books, a laptop and tablet. Enjolras decided to make his bed once he had hung all his clothes into the closet. He wasn’t entirely sure how to fit the sheet on the mattress, the task being not only highly complicated but also straining for his aching muscles. Once it was down, he fell boneless onto the bed, breathing heavily. Maybe it would get better. Maybe the ache would subside once he got accustomed to living on Earth. Enjolras allowed himself half an hour of rest before he got up again, joining Marius in the kitchen. He was quietly talking to someone on his phone, holding it out for what Enjolras assumed was a videochat. Marius immediately looked up when Enjolras entered the kitchen, smiling at him.

“I’ll just finish up here,” he said, quickly directing his attention to the person on the screen again. “Alright, I’m off. Enjoy your day today. Yes, I will! I promise, I will. I love you, too. Bye!” He placed his phone aside and smiled at Enjolras once more. “Are you hungry?”

Was he hungry? Enjolras frowned and crossed over to sit at the kitchen table. “I guess I am.” He hadn’t eaten anything at all that day and he knew that humans must eat. Since he was human now, maybe food was something he should have.

“Okay. I have some croissants and Nutella and jam. Is that okay? Coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please.” Something, some weird feeling, told him he wouldn’t like coffee very much. “So, tell me again, why did… your friend leave all his furniture?”

Marius busied himself with the kettle while he answered: “He moved in with his boyfriend, they didn’t need another bed or desk or wardrobe. I would’ve asked my girlfriend to move in but she is currently studying abroad in England. It might also be too early to move in with her yet, we’ve only been dating for not quite a year yet.”

“So… she might move in when she comes back? And I would have to move out again?”

“Oh no, not necessarily.” Marius smiled softly and handed him a cup of tea. “As I said, Cosette and I, we haven’t been together for that long. You can stay here indefinitely, don’t worry. Is it your first time in Paris? Do you already know someone here?”

Enjolras thought back to all the people he had observed. Surely there were some who had lived in Paris? But was that even during this time? So he shook his head: “I don’t think so. It might be, but only someone I know from a while ago, people I haven’t kept in touch with who moved here.”

“Would you like to meet new people? Courfeyrac and his boyfriend would like to meet us for lunch, if you’re up for it? I understand if it’s too many people at once and I can invite them over instead of us going out so you can stay at least in a bit of a known environment?” Marius handed him a plate with some baguette and a croissant before putting cheese and some jams on the table. “It’s also okay if you don’t want to meet them at all. Either yet or in general.”

“I think I would like to meet them for lunch but maybe here in the flat would be a good idea.” Enjolras took a sip from his tea and smiled. “Thank you for being so helpful and kind.”

Marius blushed softly. “Of course. I know how hard it is to be new in a city, to know no one. I got lucky, I really did. I’ve got a great group of friends and I’m sure you’d fit right in. Do you have a job here?”

A job? Enjolras tried to think if he’d seen anything or felt anything concerning an occupation. But there was nothing, so he shook his head.

“That’s alright. One of my friends runs a café and I’m sure she’d be happy to help you out until you’ve found something you’d rather do.”

“Do you always do this? Just… help other people out?”

Enjolras had seen it before, seen the good in humans, the way they helped each other with difficulties but he had also observed how corrupt and cruel humanity could be, had seen their wars and ploys, their bombs and weapons. It had been Montparnasse’s downfall; he had stopped caring about humankind, about their well-being, thought it fruitless to try and teach them anything.

“Yes of course. We stick together and help each other out. We help others, too. Actually, Combeferre and Courfeyrac started a political group, so we could change things in France. Or at least in Paris or at uni. Every little bit counts.”

“I think I want to go there. I want to help, too, I want to change things.”

Marius beamed at him and nodded. “Okay! Yes, we can definitely do that. We can talk to Courf and Combeferre about it over lunch.”

The time between breakfast and lunch was spent chatting to Marius a bit. He found out Marius liked languages, his girlfriend, cats, and cacti. Enjolras filed that information away for later, feeling it might come in handy. Before he knew it, lunch rolled around and the doorbell rang. Marius seemed nervous, for some reason. Hadn’t he said those were his friends? Surely there was no reason to be anxious then. Enjolras would do his best to get along with the pair. Since he knew they were interested in politics and wanted to help people, he doubted they would clash.

“So, uhm, this is Enjolras, my new flatmate,” Marius introduced him after he himself had hugged both men hello.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Combeferre said, kissing his cheeks.

French greeting, Enjolras mind supplied, and he barely refrained from rolling his eyes at himself. Yes, he knew that.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” Enjolras smiled.

“I’m Courfeyrac!” Courfeyrac simply enveloped him in a quick hug before kissing his cheeks.

That boy’s smile could rival the sun, Enjolras thought to himself.

“Enjolras, you can call me Enjolras, hi,” he smiled. It seemed like smiling was all he could do around these people. He just wanted to be polite.

“We made a couple of sandwiches and a soup,” Marius said as he led them into the kitchen.

They were soon seated around the kitchen table, chatting away idly.

“So,” Enjolras started, “Marius said you have a political group and that you want to help people?”

“We do! Last year, we managed to get gender-neutral bathrooms at uni, all of them equipped with baby-changing stations. We thought it was silly that they were only in the women’s bathrooms since there are also fathers visiting university with their children,” Courfeyrac explained.

“We also wanted to give every student a safe space. Bathrooms can cause a lot of anxiety for people who don’t fit gender norms. Agender people, genderfluid people, transgender people, you name it,” Combeferre went on.

Enjolras felt their eyes heavily on him, as if they were waiting for a reaction, waiting to be able to judge him and his opinions, his place in their group – if there would even be one.

“I like that,” Enjolras smiled. “See, I think that since God created us after God’s image, God cannot have a gender. And if God doesn’t have one, why should humanity try and force people who identify like God into one of two bathrooms? I think I’ll fully support whatever you have planned next.”

Courfeyrac beamed at him. “Yes? Oh, that is fantastic! Are you very religious?”

Was he? He knew God existed, but he also knew that his God wasn’t Christian or Muslim or Jewish or Buddhist. It was just a God, multiple Gods. So he shrugged his shoulders as a reply.

“I guess I do believe that there is a deity watching over us. Angels, demons, yes. I don’t feel like I belong to one particular religion though.”

“Marius and Cosette are the only practicing Christians here, they go to church regularly,” Combeferre said. “I myself grew up Muslim, but I am more of an agnostic. If I cannot prove that there is a God, I also cannot disprove it, so I don’t know if God exists. Could, could not. Same with aliens.”

“I never thought much about aliens,” Enjolras mused. “I never thought further than angels. Maybe aliens do exist. But, Marius, since Cosette isn’t here, I wouldn’t mind going to church with you every now and then.”

“I’d like that,” Marius smiled, blushing lightly. “Enjolras doesn’t have a job,” he then addressed his friends, “and I figured we could ask Musichetta?”

“Oh, sure! She always needs a helping hand around the café. It’s also where we have our meetings,” Combeferre told Enjolras. “Can you bake?”

“I’m a better cook than a baker,” Enjolras answered. Huh. It felt true at least.

“She also offers soups, so if you can help with that, I’m sure she’d be happy.”

“That I can do,” Enjolras smiled. “When is the next meeting? Maybe I could ask her then?”

“Tomorrow evening,” Courfeyrac said. “One of our friends has his artwork in a gallery which opens tonight. If you’d like, you could join us, get to meet the gang, ask Chetta there?”

“That would be nice,” Enjolras nodded.

It would be good to meet more people, to become a part of the group. Who knew how long he’d stay on Earth – possibly forever? Could he die? That was a question he didn’t need answered. Either answer would be too much to handle at the moment. He was pleasantly surprised, though, to feel less pressure from the air. It felt good, normal. Though the missing weight of his wings sometimes still threw him off. The scars itched, especially when he made an unfortunate move and the fabric of his shirt rubbed against them.

After Combeferre and Courfeyrac had left, Enjolras helped Marius clean up before he retreated into his new room. He felt tired, everything felt heavy and he wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or Earth. Maybe a short nap would help solve that mystery? He just couldn’t get comfortable. Everything was too hot, the mattress too hard, the friction against his back too much to bear. Maybe if he lay on his stomach? That’s how he had rested in Heaven, after all. It worked a little better, throwing Enjolras into a dreamless sleep until the unfriendly shrill of his alarm reminded him of his evening plans. He quickly got ready and met Marius in the kitchen to follow him to the gallery.

When they arrived, Enjolras was the proud new owner of a metro card, and they had met Jehan Prouvaire on the way, someone Enjolras found to be quite pleasant, especially after the beaming smile when Enjolras told them that God had no gender either. It seemed as if Enjolras was not half as bad at making friends. Maybe that was his purpose. Maybe that way he could regain God’s grace and go back to Heaven. By being nice to people and changing their lives for the better.

“Wait here,” Marius instructed him when they reached the gallery, “I’ll have a look around for Musichetta.”

Enjolras nodded softly, looking around the room. In big letters, a sign declared the name of the exhibition: Human Fail/lings. How fitting. Despite Marius’ instructions, Enjolras found himself magically drawn towards the artworks. He had noticed it already on the way to the gallery but now it had grown stronger – the feeling of discomfort in his bones and muscles, the way he ached when he walked for too long, how exhausting it was because it felt as if he was wading through thick mud. On top of that, he wasn’t sure how comfortable the artworks made him, despite their indisputable pull. There were paintings of cruelty, of fallen ballerinas, statues crumbled and torn apart. It was exhausting to look at what these humans had created, how they saw their own species. Enjolras wanted to yell, wanted to tell them that humanity was wonderful and good, beautiful and capable of miracles! How could they not see it?

Enjolras stopped in front of an installment about Pompeii. The details were gruesome yet fascinating. Every figurine had an individual facial expression, ranging from surprise over shock to agony. He had seen it happening, unable to prevent the volcano. How was this a failing of humanity? They had done nothing wrong, they couldn’t have known. Maybe it was about their fall; the fall of the grand nation of Pompeii, their culture and intellect lost forever more. He moved on to another artwork, an assembly of Trump tweets arranged to form the president’s face. It made Enjolras smile a little, glad to know people cared enough to use his incompetence for art, as a warning. If he wasn’t the epitome of the exhibition’s dual meaning, then Enjolras didn’t know what else would be. The dread was still in the back of his mind, slowly creeping up his spine, making his skin tingle. He was sure it would settle soon, once he got used to living on Earth. It wasn’t so bad in Marius’ – their – flat. Only when he had tried to sleep. Maybe his body wasn’t used to needing sleep yet, not used to the heavy air and the way it moved without its wings.

Turning around, Enjolras made his way into the media room. The dimmed lights hopefully helped with his sensitive eyes, but the flashing of the different videos made Enjolras leave fast than he had entered. A No to that, then. He walked along the sides again; luckily there weren’t too many people yet so he wasn’t bothered by too loud noises or someone accidentally bumping into him. He walked past paintings, digital art and satirical comics, stopping to admire each and every one of them. Enjolras had a brief moment of panic when he remembered Marius but he had his phone on him, so Marius could call anytime.

At the end of the room, he could spot a large painting in mainly black, gold and red. It sparked his curiosity but he held out, granting every artwork before it the admiration and attention it deserved. Finally, he came to a stop. What Enjolras saw was – unbelievable.

“This is me,” he whispered.

Enjolras quietly studied the painting. It was as if he was looking into a mirror: the man’s black skin stretched taunt over his soft muscles, golden curls surrounding his head like a halo, face determined and lips parted slightly. His wings were falling apart, feathers everywhere, even reaching out of the painting itself. Could the artist know? How was this possible? He saw the dark blue of his own eyes reflected in the painting, the rigidness in his shoulders. He ignored the tingling in his back, the way the scars on his back seemed to be set on fire. Phantom pain, maybe, from looking at his former wings, admiring their span and softness in all their glory. His eyes fell in the card next to the painting: _Ange Raphaël – Fall From Grace by Grantaire_.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” A voice next to him spoke.

Enjolras turned around to see Courfeyrac standing next to him. At once, his mind went into overdrive and relaxed at the same time. Could Courfeyrac know? But his presence soothed him inexplicably.

“The painting look just like you. It must be a sign! Our friend painted this. He’ll go nuts when he meets you! Do you want to meet him?”

Enjolras felt the air closing in on him, his head growing dizzy once more. He tried to take deep breaths but each intake hurt more than the one before. His back burnt, the scars feeling as if they’d broken open.

“Not yet… You’ll excuse me for a minute,” he mumbled before rushing out of the building.

Maybe the fresh air would help, but leaning against the side of the building only brought him more pain. The air was stifling, suffocating him slowly and Enjolras gulped for it.

“Hey, hey…” Someone gently laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. “Breathe with me.” Enjolras felt his hand being pressed against a chest, feeling the slow heartbeat of the person. “Yeah, that’s it, in and out, in and out, just breathe. There we go,” the man smiled at him.

Enjolras nodded and slumped forward, leaning his forehead against his shoulder. Maybe this wasn’t appropriate, he wasn’t sure how quickly human relationships of any kind were supposed to evolve. He already felt extremely comfortable around Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Marius, felt part of their lives as much as they were part of his now. But the stranger didn’t seem to mind. He was glad he didn’t try to sooth him by rubbing his back.

“I think the painting was a little overwhelming,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Which painting?”

Enjolras drew back to properly look at the man. Dark curls like Courfeyrac, surrounded by an air of uncertainty just like Marius and Jehan.

“Shit. You… oh God, I know which painting. I’m… Shit fucking hell.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but laugh softly. “It’s an incredible art of work. The brush strokes are amazing and the way the artist works with colour? Gorgeous. It was just…”

“Kind of scary? Uncanny?”

“To put it mildly.”

“There you are!” Courfeyrac’s worried voice reached the pair.

He looked between both men, trying to assess the situation.

“Oh, shit, I didn’t… you know Courfeyrac?”

“Of course I know Enjolras! He’s Marius’ new flatmate,” Courfeyrac supplied helpfully.

“Ah, I see. Well, in that case…” The man held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Grantaire, my painting chased you out of the building and I am so incredibly sorry that I gave you a panic attack.”

Enjolras took the hand, the sharp pain in his back shooting up like a flaming arrow despite the warm and comforting presence of Grantaire’s hand in his.

“That was what it was? A panic attack?”

Grantaire nodded softly, squeezing his hand. “I suppose so, yes. Do you want to stay out here for a little while longer? I gotta go back, I just took a quick smoke break… Are you gonna be okay, Ange?”

Enjolras swallows heavily but nods. “I’ve got Courfeyrac. Right?”

“Of course you have! I’ll let Marius know that we’ve found you while you calm down some more. He’ll bring us some water. Thank you, Grantaire.”

“My pleasure.” He squeezed Enjolras shoulder again, going back inside.

Left alone with Courfeyrac, Enjolras leaned heavily against the other man. It scared him, the strong physical reaction towards it. Like a prophecy, a sign from God that he had truly fallen now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras reminiscence about his friends, finds Montparnasse, walks dogs with Grantaire, and allows himself to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second chapter! The topic of today's Enjoltaire Week Prompt is "It's not what it looks like". I hope you enjoy your read :)

February slowly turned into March turned into April. Enjolras hoped the warmer weather would give him and his back a break. Ever since the gallery, his scars had started itching. They slowly developed scab which was rubbed off by his thicker jumpers. He slept shirtless and on his stomach, trying to get as little friction onto his back as possible. Most nights he didn’t sleep well; the lack of warmth on his upper body preventing him from fully relaxing. But warmer days presented another challenge Enjolras hadn’t anticipated: tank tops and sweat. The sweat only made the scabs itch more and when he complained that he was too warm, he couldn’t even follow Marius’ advice to wear tank tops because they’d show his scars.

It was nice living with Marius, though. He cared. He noticed when Enjolras was sleep-deprived, tried to cheer him up when complicated customers had given him a hard time at the café. He always included him in everything, which led to Enjolras getting to know the rest of the so-called Les Amis De L’ABC – including Grantaire, the artist from the gallery. Their first meeting had been… awkward, to say the least, until Grantaire had broken the tension with a joke about how Enjolras must be his guardian angel, a fantasy come true.

Their friends were fun people to be around, all of them, but Enjolras found himself gravitating mostly towards Marius and Jehan, who were calm and quiet, Grantaire, who could go for hours without talking when he concentrated on his art and usually always made Enjolras laugh, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who instilled a feeling of utter calmness into Enjolras. He liked quiet evenings. They contrasted his busy work days at the café as well as the occasional day at the pet shelter – Feuilly had introduced him to that concept and Enjolras enjoyed the company of animals immensely.

Mid-April seemed to enjoy the sun, letting her shine brighter than before. After his usual evening shower – because he felt like he needed two showers these days – Enjolras inspected the scabs. They were soft from the water, irritated and flaming red. The skin around them looked as if someone had plucked feathers right out of it – Enjolras supposed that that was what had happened, after all. He was just about to pull on his shirt when the door opened.

“Oh shit! I didn’t realise you’d be… what are those?”

Marius pointed at the scars on his back.

“It’s nothing, it’s not what it looks like!” Enjolras quickly pulled down the shirt, a little too hasty so it scraped along the wounds, making him wince.

“Are you alright?” Marius asked softly.

“Yeah I’m… I just got these wounds which won’t heal but… uhm… the heat is making it worse.”

“Oh, I understand.” He nodded seriously. “Maybe ask Combeferre if he can recommend a tincture or cream or something?”

Enjolras hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a really good idea, Marius. Thank you. I’m sorry for forgetting to lock the door.”

“No, don’t apologise, it’s all good,” he smiled. “Just… let me know when I can do something for you, yeah? With the back and all…”

Enjolras nodded, feeling the words carry more meaning. He left the bathroom after wishing Marius a goodnight and retreated into his room.

With his scars getting worse, other senses he used to have came back. He was better at reading emotions now, feeling an aura around people again. He was also certain he could feel the pull towards Montparnasse. He had to be close, this feeling was too present to be ignored.

With a sigh, Enjolras let himself fall onto his bed. Hottest day in the year to come. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, so why not chase that feeling of mutual bond across Paris, see where it led him? He shot a quick text to Marius, letting him know he went out for a walk in the cooling night air before pulling on his shoes and leaving the apartment. The soft breeze against his skin was nice, comforting. He wandered aimlessly for a while, soaking in the atmosphere, the busy streets of Paris still at this time at night. He liked the quiet times better. Sometimes, he was sensitive to loud sounds, to bright lights and harsh winds. Up in Heaven, everything had been less. Less loud, less bright, less subject to weather changes. It had all been calmer. Maybe that was why he appreciated the soft evenings with Jehan and Marius so much – it reminded him of home. He was glad that the pull was back, the sign that another Angel was near. But ‘near’ was a wide definition: Montparnasse could be around the next corner or to cities far away. Distance had lost all meaning.

He had to concentrate harder. Enjolras sat down on the closest bench and took out his phone, having it felt vibrate in his pocket.

[Marius] _alright! Take care, will you? Xxx_

[Enjolras] _Of course! Thank you._

He locked it again, chewing on his bottom lip before unlocking it once more and shooting off another text.

[Enjolras] _How’s your newest work going? Reckon I can come over tomorrow evening and sit with you while you work?_

[Grantaire] _yeah!! It’s going… welp. Love for you to join me, Ange!!_

Enjolras smiled softly at the message. Grantaire was something else entirely. He had no idea how one human body could contain so many contrasting traits. Grantaire was brash and loud but so quiet and calm. He loved his friends dearly but didn’t seem to think too highly of himself. Enjolras had to examine that further, making sure that Grantaire knew how valuable he was. But right now he had to concentrate on the feeling in his gut, this strong pull he felt. Enjolras closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he opened his eyes again and stood up. He walked left, took a right – somewhere he had never been before. He wasn’t entirely sure how comfortable he felt so deep in the shadows of the Parisian night. He was a child of the light – quite literally so. The shadows weren’t his friends. Maybe he should’ve taken Éponine with him, she seemed to know her way around the labyrinth of her hometown. But how could he have possibly explained the entire situation to her without spilling his secret? No, that was impossible. He had to do this himself.

Enjolras manoeuvred the dark streets of Paris for what felt like hours – he hadn’t actually checked. He was about to give up and go home, let Marius know that he was fine and nothing had happened to him, when he felt an especially strong pull in his gut. It felt warm, familiar. He knew another Angel was near and he suspected it was Montparnasse. Some other, earlier fallen Angel would’ve probably sought him out already but Montparnasse was most likely just as lost and confused, just as busy regaining his abilities and trying to find his place in this world of mortals. Montparnasse and Enjolras – they’ve had their disagreements, their arguments, their fights. But surely Montparnasse would be just as glad to have some angelic company as Enjolras. Before he rounded the corner, Enjolras could already make out hushed voices. With a rush of excitement, Enjolras entered the alleyway, only to stop immediately. A dark figure was looming over another person, threatening them. This was unacceptable, for humans and especially for angels – even fallen ones.

“Montparnasse,” Enjolras spoke quietly but with vigour.

The figure shot up and spun around. “This is not what it looks like,” Montparnasse spat out. “Fuck off.”

“No, we need to talk.” Enjolras squared his shoulders and stood his ground. “Let the man go.”

Montparnasse sneered and turned towards the man on the floor again. “If I catch you here one more time, I can’t guarantee for anything. Understood?”

The man nodded and quickly scrambled up, leaving the alleyway as fast as he could.

“Thank you for that, Enjolras. Once again, you saved the day, saved your precious fucking mortals. Should I clap?” He spun the knife around in his hand, smirking at his opposite. “Once more, trying the best without having any fucking idea what you’re doing. I needed the money, alright? It’s not like we have a fucking life here.”

“You… you don’t? I was given a place to live…”

“So was I. ‘S more of a rat’s nest than anything. You’ve gotten something better, huh? Of course. You’ve always been a fucking favourite.”

Enjolras sighed softly. They’ve had this argument countless times. God was there to protect the people, but if Montparnasse resented them, how did he expect to gain God’s respect and love?

“So this is what you look like here, huh?” Montparnasse took a step towards Enjolras. “Still haloed, with your hair, I see how it is. And how do I look, huh? Tell me.”

“You look handsome,” Enjolras told him honestly. “Sharp features, full lips, olive skin, full hair.”

“I look haggard,” Montparnasse sneered. “Worn down, tired, exhausted. Everything fucking hurts, everything is too much, too loud, too bright. Every touch scorches my skin.”

“I can help you,” Enjolras offered. “I have friends, we… we have a group where we help people. You can come and we can help you.”

“Fucking hell, Enjolras! Still with the helping bullshit? Hasn’t this taught you anything? Humanity isn’t worth anything! They’re all crooks and liars. Fuck them! You are so naïve! I don’t care about anyone, I don’t give a shit about these people! I don’t want to come to your fucking meeting and be treated like a stray dog!”

“That’s not what we do! We could help you find honest work, a better place to live! If you’d just allow yourself to get close to the people, let them into your heart! You’d see how good they are, Montparnasse!” He groaned in frustration. “Alright, okay, then don’t come! But just… please tell me if the pain you talked about, is that… do you think it’s because we’ve fallen?”

Montparnasse leaned against the wall, half-hidden in its shadow, and nodded. “Yeah. It’s like the air itself is trying to crush me.”

“I feel the same! My bones ache, my muscles hurt and I have immense trouble sleeping because of the scars on my back. Have they… uhm… have they become scabs for your, too? Sometimes they bleed… I’ve been wearing red and black shirts so it’s not as obvious when it happens.”

“Yeah, they bleed. I’ve got bandages around my shoulders so they can heal but… it doesn’t heal.”

Enjolras shook his head softly. “It’s like a healing process in reverse, isn’t it? First the scar, then the scab… I’m worried it’ll develop into a wound.”

“And yet you don’t resent humanity. You don’t resent what has caused your downfall. You’re happily helping everyone. Get a reality check.”

“Can I just…” Enjolras stuck his hands in his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. “Here’s my number. I know we have different opinions and if I had any other chance, I would not interact with you, trust me. But we’re the only ones here. At least I can’t make out anyone else. So, if you ever just want to talk about… about back then, about what is happening now, just give me a call, alright?” He held out the paper, waiting for Montparnasse to take it.

After some hesitation, Montparnasse quickly grabbed the number. “Now, fuck off. I don’t wanna see you anymore.”

“I understand.” Enjolras quickly turned around and left, making sure to check his phone for the way back.

He had a few messages from a worried Marius, wondering where he was. Bless his soul.

[Enjolras] _on my way back. Sorry I got lost and had no signal. Will be home in half an hour, don’t wait up, I’m okay._

He locked his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, hurrying along the way until he reached the riverside. At least from here on he knew how to get home quickly. Home. It was strange still to think of the flat, of Paris, as his home. He supposed he had two homes now, one unattainable and one not suited for this hybrid he had become. Mulling over his thoughts, he decided to push them aside. It was late, he needed to sleep. He had a busy day ahead of him, half a day of work at the shelter and then an interview for an NGO specialised in immigration law. After setting his alarm, Enjolras fell face-first into his bed, letting out a small groan. The shirt had ridden up, got caught painfully on his scabs and caused some blood seeping through the cracked skin. But right now, he couldn’t care less. He was too exhausted, his bones too tired and his mind too full with more important things.

When his alarm rang, Enjolras had managed to get barely four hours of sleep. It was alright, he had functioned on way less. Marius should be up and about, so Enjolras decided to ease his mind by showing up in one piece in the kitchen.

“Oh good, you’re there,” Marius breathed in relief. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

“I tried to be extra quiet.”

The truth was, Enjolras made barely any sounds as it was. He wondered if that came from his abilities, too.

“You definitely succeeded. What’s your plan for the day? The interview, right?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras grabbed his cup of tea and took a sip. “First the shelter. I’m on dog-walking duty today and Grantaire is accompanying me. He’s going to practice the interview because I’m really nervous and Grantaire knows how to push my buttons. After the interview, I’m gonna be back home until our meeting tonight. And then I’ll spend the evening at Grantaire’s. He’s working on this graphic novel and I like watching him and just hanging out… How about you?”

Marius smiled softly. “So… what exactly is going on between you and Grantaire?”

“Nothing much.” Enjolras shrugged his shoulders. “I like him. He calms me down just like you and Jehan and Courfeyrac and Combeferre. And I can argue with him. Can you believe he can be this dense sometimes?”

“Oh, I can,” Marius laughed. “I’ve known him for a while now. We once got into a heated argument about grilled cheese. He wanted to add spices to it! Spices!”

Enjolras shook his head in amusement. “Well, you are white, he isn’t. I suppose he’s more used to spices from home.”

“That might be. I mean, my dad was half-Moroccan but I didn’t grow up with him. I grew up with French nannies so I ate a lot of onion soup. Maybe that’s where my hatred for onions stems from… Anyway, yes, uhm… my plan for today? Uni at 10, then a Skype lunch date with Cosette, and then I have to study for my exams before the meeting tonight. How’s your back doing, by the way?”

Enjolras sighed. “It’s doing better but I might actually ask Combeferre if he has something for it.”

That was a lie. It was neither better nor would he ask Combeferre for help. How would he even explain the wounds? Maybe there was something to be found on the internet. Overnight, the wound had actually gotten worse – maybe it had something to do with meeting Montparnasse.

“Alright, good,” Marius smiled. “You know, you can always talk to me, okay? Or to Grantaire or Jehan or really, anyone at all. We’re all here for you.”

“I know.” Enjolras smiled softly and reached over to squeeze Marius’ hand. These people, all of his newly-won friends, cared so incredibly much and they had only known him for two months. Montparnasse could damn humanity all he wanted, Enjolras knew better than that. “Thank you so much, Marius. But the wounds come from something in my past that I’d rather not talk about. It has nothing to do with you or anyone. I trust you, I truly do. But it’s something I have to figure out for myself.”

“Okay. Just know we’re there.”

“I know you are.” He smiled softly and leaned back in his seat but once he collided with the backrest, he winced softly and sat up straight. “I might take a painkiller… after I had my tea.”

Enjolras and Marius chatted the morning away until it was time for Enjolras to leave for his shift at the shelter. He would meet Grantaire there, seeing as the shelter was halfway between their flats. Enjolras knew Grantaire enjoyed the company of dogs – he himself seemed to be more of a cat person. They were independent, stubborn little things and while Enjolras appreciated the loyalty of a dog, he valued the cat’s own mind a little more. They were on dog-walking-duty that day. Enjolras knew Grantaire would love to have a dog himself but that his landlord simply didn’t allow it. He also knew that Courfeyrac and Marius would’ve bought a cat had they not been students with a too small flat and too little time on their hands.

“Hello you,” Grantaire greeted him as they met in front of the shelter.

He gently bumped Enjolras shoulder in good manner – they had established early on that Enjolras wasn’t a person for hugs. It had been because he hadn’t known these people yet, because he had – and still did – hoped he could go back to Heaven soon. Now, though, now he was glad because the mere thought of someone embracing him made the skin on his back tingle unpleasantly.

“Hello yourself. Ready to take the dogs for a walk around the park?”

“Of course I am! Let’s gather the crowd.”

Enjolras laughed softly and followed Grantaire inside. They let the front desk know about their arrival and picked up their list of dogs for the day. It was only five, and once they were all on a leash and ready to go, Enjolras and Grantaire made their way to the park nearby. They walked the dogs in comfortable silence, letting them run around and play for a while, settling on a bench to watch over them. It reminded Enjolras a little bit of home, of Heaven. Sitting, watching, sometimes intervening, but not actually doing much. Had that been his life so far? It had felt so tremendously important while he had been doing it and shortly after the fall. But now? Had he really been nothing more than a human-sitter? No, he had definitely helped people, made their lives better, had prevented catastrophes from happening. In a way, it still sounded eerily similar to being a dog-walker.

“Where’s that clever mind of yours, hm?” Grantaire carefully nudged Enjolras’ knee with his own.

“With the interview,” Enjolras lied. “I’m nervous about it, I’ve never done such a thing before. But you wanted to help, right?”

“Yeah. Okay, so, you gotta be prepared that they ask you why you’d like to work there.”

“That’s easy. They’re one of the highest profile NGOs in the entire world. What they do really changes lives. I studied anthropology, history, sociology and politics. I care about humanity, I care what happens to them. I care about the individual person as much as I care about the bigger picture. Working with them would be an honour and they’d win a highly motivated employee.”

“Good,” Grantaire smiled. “I have no idea how much of that was fake and how much wasn’t, but it all sounded genuine to me.”

“Because it was.”

“Okay,” Grantaire smiled, “onto the next question: name your three best qualities.”

“Oh… uhm… I’m really good with languages.” He had noticed it the other day, while Marius had watched some German show. Enjolras could understand every word perfectly. It made sense, really. Once upon a time, everyone on Earth spoke the same language – Angels still possessed that quality. “I am determined but not overly so and I am clever. I always know my way out of tricky situations, since I am very good with words.”

Grantaire hummed. “All of that is true, yes. I can’t account for the languages but certainly the determination. I remember the first time I saw you at a meeting. You had this look in your eyes, as if you were determined to make everyone in the room love you.”

Enjolras blushed slightly. “I just didn’t want Marius’ friends to hate me…”

“We don’t. I think the entire room really fell in love with you immediately, Ange.”

“And I think that’s an exaggeration of the worst kind, dear Grantaire. Go on, next interview question.”

“Worst qualities? I mean, you obviously have none. You’re basically an angel,” Grantaire joked.

But did he really? Was it only a joke? Could he possibly know? Enjolras had been so careful – he had no idea what would happen if someone knew about his secret. Some other than Montparnasse, that was.

“I think my worst quality is that I get too attached. I lose my heart easily and then I’m determined to do everything in my power to help someone to the point where it gets too much and I fuck up.” He swallowed thickly. Yes. That was, without a doubt, his fatal flaw.

“Caring too much.” Grantaire smirked and nudged his knee again, falling silent once more.

“You know,” Enolras started again after a while, “I’m amused at how easily the dogs are entertained. Just… running around. Then I realised that we are just as easily entertained by watching them for hours on end.” He turned towards Grantaire and smiled softly. “Are we still on for this evening? I want to work on my proposal for the group regarding the new minimum wage discussions lately.”

“Of course we’re on. You can hang out with me while I work on my graphic novel. And you can make me coffee,” Grantaire grinned. “You can also read me your proposal and I will tell you why you’re wrong.”

Enjolras laughed and shook his head lightly. “One day, one of my proposals will leave you speechless. That’s my aim.”

“I think that would have to be a marriage proposal,” Grantaire said, all nonchalant.

Enjolras only rolled his eyes fondly before turning his attention back to the dogs. Surely he’d be going home soon anyway. Cosette would be back by the end of January and despite Marius’ claims, Enjolras was certain she’d move in. Of course, they could live in the flat with three people but… he’d like to grant the couple their own space. Maybe that was his time, nearly a year. Time to think about what he had done, time to redeem himself on Earth before he was accepted back and was once more granted to help humanity. So he really couldn’t, shouldn’t. Grantaire was very much human and Enjolras… well, Enjolras wasn’t sure. Was he half human, half Angel now? Would he live forever, did he have a prolonged life-span or was he just as vulnerable as a mere mortal? Would it even matter should he really spend only a year on Earth?

The thoughts still plagued him as he arrived at the Café Musain later that day for their meeting though they were frequently interrupted by the ache in his back. Over time, walking and breathing had gotten easier. He didn’t feel as weighed down by gravity as he had shortly after his fall. Maybe things were getting better. But then there was the matter of his scars. The day out with the dogs, running around, chasing them in warm weather – a bit of blood had seeped through, staining his shirt. Luckily he had worn something else for the interview but the white shirt was now flecked with specks of red. A quick change of clothes at home had revealed the uncomfortable truth: the wounds looked even fresher than before.

“Enjolras!” Combeferre greeted him with a genuine smile. “How did the interview go?”

“Quite well, I hope. I practiced a bit with Grantaire this morning. The organisation said they’ll let me know by the end of the week. So, fingers crossed?”

“Definitely,” Combeferre nodded. “I’m sure you’ll get the job, you’re perfect for the position.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras smiled.

The day had been tiring and Enjolras wanted nothing more than for the meeting to begin. He knew what was on the agenda today and looked forward to the ensuing discussions. After he had gotten his tea from Musichetta – including a quick chat about how her and her boyfriends’ cats were doing back home – he took his seat next to Jehan, who was idly scribbling something into their notebook. Enjolras envied the way the poet was slumped over the table, the posture just so relaxed. His back was troubling him too much, he had to sit straight, walk straight, lest he irritated the scars further. So there he was, perched on the edge of his seat, tea clutched in hand, while Courfeyrac and Combeferre started the meeting. Enjolras found himself looking around for Grantaire but only caught Joly’s eye, who shrugged his shoulders in response.

“Probably just running late,” Jehan whispered next to him.

How came that everyone knew whom he was looking for? Grantaire wasn’t the only one missing, Feuilly wasn’t there, either. Then again, while Enjolras admired Feuilly and his ethic towards the citizens of the world, he spent a lot more time with Grantaire than with Feuilly.

As if on cue, Grantaire came up the stairs. “So sorry,” he panted, “I fell asleep. But I’m here now. Please, don’t stop on my account.”

He grinned at Courfeyrac and Combeferre – the former waving happily, the latter fondly rolling his eyes. Grantaire let himself fall onto the bench next to Joly, immediately taking out his notebook. Only for sketching, not for taking notes – Enjolras knew him that well by now.

During the meeting, Enjolras chimed in with constant comments. He had read up on current politics, though he knew most of it from his time in Heaven anyway. He also knew what was going to happen, which didn’t always help. But somehow, that memory was fading more and more. Ten, fifteen years from now? He had no idea what would be, but he was certain about the next five years. There were things to be avoided and he tried his best to persuade his friends without giving away too much. Sometimes, it led to heated discussions like today, when Enjolras tried to argue that banning organisations didn’t work because they just retreated into the underground and were less controllable there. After their first argument of such sorts, Enjolras had sought out Combeferre and Courfeyrac to make sure they were still on good terms – too afraid to lose those people who had come to mean so much to him.

After today’s meeting, Enjolras quickly packed his bag and met Grantaire outside. Grantaire, who just grinned at him with that stupid grin of his that meant Enjolras had to get ready for some kind of teasing. He never minded, of course not. It was all in good nature.

“Someone seemed very eager today,” Grantaire laughed softly. “Perched on the etch of your seat, arguing your way through absolute bullshit – you’re so into this. Are you afraid you’ll miss something when you relax in your seat for once?”

“It’s not exactly how it looks like,” Enjolras mumbled. “My attention is better when I’m not slouching. Not everyone can sit like a beanbag and still make clever comments.” He smiled at Grantaire softly. “Do you mind if we reschedule our hang-out today? I actually feel worn out from the day and the heat…”

“Of course not, don’t worry! Do you maybe just want to grab a quick bite to eat so we can still hang out a bit but you can go home soon?”

“Uhm… maybe we could just hang out at my place? But you don’t have your stuff there…”

“I’ve got my pencils and my notebook. So, frozen pizza and a chill evening at your place?”

“If it’s okay with you? Your place is much closer and we had plans and…”

“Plans can be changed, Ange. Come one, let’s text Marius if he wants something, too, and then we can just relax. Interviews are draining, I totally get it.”

Enjolras smiled thankfully. He shot a quick message to Marius, who informed him that he’d very much like to have frozen pizza. It wasn’t long before they were back at their place, pizzas in the oven.

“It’s just so warm in here,” Enjolras said after he’d closed the oven door. “I’m really sweaty.”

“Yes, you do look hot,” Grantaire nodded gravely. “Very much so.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile.

“Who’s hot?” Marius asked as he entered the kitchen.

“Enjolras is.”

“Oh.” He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. He really is. I like this energy he has. It’s always so warm and makes you instantly feel comfortable, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” Grantaire agreed. “And have you seen his fingers? So nimble and delicate.”

“I am right here, hello,” Enjolras laughed. “Please, continue talking about my body as if I were a piece of meat while I’m getting us some drinks.”

“Excuse me, I clearly commented on the light you seem to have, the wonderful warmth you bring into our lives,” Marius complained.

In return, Grantaire only laughed and ruffled Marius’ hair. Leaving his friends at that, Enjolras quickly got some water from the fridge and set the table. The movements upset his back greatly, heat and friction making his wounds itch and hurt in a way they hadn’t before. Sometimes, the pain faded to a dull thing; Enjolras was just so used to it. But uncommon moves, reaching up or bending down was always tricky and right now, Enjolras’ back felt like it was on fire. Luckily, he couldn’t feel the wounds starting to break open again, only felt the uncomfortable tug of the shirt when it accidentally scratched the scabs. He usually only wore very loose shirts for this exact reason but he suspected that wearing the tight white button-down for the interview must’ve upset his wounds more than previously anticipated. It all got a little better when he could lay on his stomach, eating pizza and watching Netflix with Marius while Grantaire doodled a little. His feet were resting on Enjolras’ calves, something nudging his ass softly when he wanted his opinion on something he had sketched. Not that Enjolras’ criticism was very helpful but he hoped Grantaire valued it nonetheless. He wasn’t an art critique and constantly kept mixing up art periods but Grantaire didn’t seem to mind too much. By the time Grantaire left for his own flat, Enjolras felt exhausted. His muscles were taunt, his wounds uncomfortable warm and breathing had gotten harder again. He wanted nothing more than to strip off his shirt and sleep.

“I’m gonna get changed for bed,” he told Marius, stifling a yawn.

“Alright, I’ll turn everything off then.”

Enjolras grabbed a shirt from his room and went to change in the bathroom. He could quickly clean his wounds there, maybe stick a band-aid on it – or two or three. While he slept shirtless, he had come to always wear a sleepshirt around the house to hide the scars. He’d bought some stuff in the apothecary after his interview and was eager to try it out. When he went to tug the shirt over his head, he inhaled sharply.

Shit.

The wound had bled more during the meeting, making the shirt stick to it. This wasn’t good, not at all. He slowly tried peeling his shirt off as carefully as he could but the sting from ripping off the scabs brought tears to his eyes.

“Okay,” Enjolras mumbled to himself, “okay. Quickly. Like a band-aid.”

He took a deep breath, stripping off his shirt in a quick motion. Enjolras couldn’t help the pained yell slipping from his lips. Immediately, he heard Marius knock on the bathroom door.

“Enjolras? Hey… are you okay in there?”

“No,” Enjolras answered, voice shaky. “I’m not. But I’m alright, it’s okay, please don’t come in.”

He sank to the floor and wiped away his tears, hiccuping furiously. This was ridiculous! He was in extreme pain and couldn’t even let his friend see him like this!

“Alright. I’ll stay on the other side, okay? I’m here when you need me.”

Enjolras leaned his forehead against the door. “Thank you, Marius,” he whispered without knowing if his friend had heard.

It felt good, knowing someone was there, someone didn’t pressure him. Enjolras finally allowed himself to cry, for the first time since the fall. The pain, the exhaustion from the day, the worry about Montparnasse, the guilt he felt when it came to his friends – it all crashed down on him in that moment. Maybe that was his true punishment, to be stuck on Earth for a year, not allowed to accept his friends’ help and love. Though how that should redeem him, Enjolras didn’t know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Montparnasse again and Enjolras decides that he'd prefer being back in Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments so far!   
> I am a day late (well, in my time zone it's even two days) but here we have day three of Enjoltaire week: Soft. Please enjoy and let me know if you have any suggestions or remarks! :)

After ‘The Incident’, as Enjolras liked to refer to his breakdown in the bathroom, Marius didn’t let him off the hook again. He didn’t press, didn’t ask about his past or why he had those wounds, but he took Enjolras to see Combeferre. Combeferre, thankfully, didn’t press either. He didn’t even force Enjolras to take off his shirt, something Enjolras was very thankful for. He simply described the wound to his friend, asking for something to relieve the pain and help it heal quicker. Unfortunately, Montparnasse’s hunch with bandages hadn’t been all wrong – now, Marius helped Enjolras apply the tincture every night before bandaging his wounds as good as possible. The worst part of it all wasn’t that Marius now knew how it all looked and probably wondered how someone came to such wounds, no. The worst was the smell of the tincture.

Enjolras had grown incredibly sensitive to sounds, lights and smells over the four months he’d been on Earth now. Taking the metro to his work at the NGO was daily agony. The screeching of the brakes, the howling of the turbulence, the chatter of the passengers’ voices – Enjolras felt like the ringing in his ears never ceased.

Then there was the smell. Paris was filthy, especially now, at the end of June. The heat worsened the stenches. Piss, sweat, the murky water from the sewers, rotting fruit, highly artificial fruity deodorants, the stagnant water of the Seine. Enjolras’ room was littered with anything that made it smell better without being too overwhelming. 

Light was also a sensitive issue. His eyes constantly hurt from the harsh brightness of the sun, even on days when it was cloudy. Paris at night was more bearable though the many twinkling lights, the neon-bright metro displays hurt his eyes and made it hard to read them. Combeferre suggested that Enjolras should wear glasses; maybe that would help with his issues. Enjolras was too apprehensive to seek out an optician though – he feared that there might be some secret hidden in his eyes, something that would tell the doctor he wasn’t entirely human.

Sometimes, Enjolras’ mind drifted to Montparnasse. Had he the same problems? How did he cope? Why wouldn’t he just text? It would be easier to fight this battle together for however long it may last. Wouldn’t a confidante help? Enjolras always knew exactly where Montparnasse was – his sense, just like his sensitivities, had grown stronger with time. Yet he hadn’t sought him out again, too fearful of rejection, too fearful that something might get worse again.

The summer heat was suffocating him more and more – Enjolras dreaded the height of summer already. Luckily, his office was air-conditioned, so working was no problem at all. And Enjolras loved his work. He helped schedule and take interviews with people whose petition for naturalisation had been denied so they could find out more about the issues and fight for them. He translated interviews, translated the rejection letters from the government to make them more understandable. Finally, he could make a real difference and he could see it. He could see the good he was doing. Enjolras loved seeing the smile on people’s faces, thanking him for his help. It helped overshadow the extreme pain his body went through every day.

His skin was quick to bruise, so just an accidental stumble against the table’s edge had him sprout a beautifully purple-yellow mark on his dark skin. He was heat-sensitive, couldn’t drink his tea as hot as Marius and Jehan did, couldn’t even hold his mug properly anymore without scalding his hands. Sitting on grass left his skin irritated and he could only use the softest blanket to cover him at night. Joly believed there was something deeply wrong with Enjolras’ body, had suggested heaps of diseases he could possibly suffer from, but whatever he came up with, only Enjolras knew the truth. He still spent an incredible amount of money on products for sensitive skin, recommended by Combeferre and Joly. It helped sooth his aches even if it didn’t stop them. It was still a relief and that’s all Enjolras was asking for. Who could’ve known what Earth did to angelic bodies.

“Would you like some wine?” Enjolras looked up to where Jehan’s voice was coming from and shook his head.

“No, thank you.”

He had no idea how alcohol would affect his body and he’d rather not try it out.

“Okay. Then it’s just me and Marius, I guess,” they sighed dramatically before taking a long swing from the bottle.

“Oh my God,” Marius groaned, “now I’m not sure I want some anymore…”

“Well, I still do,” Éponine piped up.

Jehan only smiled sweetly and took a seat next to Marius on the sofa, who was now wedged between them and Grantaire with Éponine to Grantaire’s other side. Enjolras had taken refuge on the floor; he could lie on his stomach there, giving his back a well-deserved break. Sometimes, he envied the easy way with which Marius leaned against Grantaire or the backrubs Jehan would give Joly. He had never understood the meaning of being touch-starved until there was no one touching him anymore. Sometimes, his friends would squeeze his shoulder, lay a comforting hand on his arm or kiss his forehead – something Courfeyrac was very fond of. Then there were the bises, of course. It had taken him far too long to learn which cheek to kiss first or if there even was a rule regarding cheek-kissing. It wasn’t enough though. He craved the sort of hugs Grantaire gave; they look warm and comfortable, and always left Marius a little more at ease than before. He craved the gentle touch of Marius’ hand on the small of his back, Jehan’s finger running through his hair, the bone-crushing hugs of Bahorel, and the casual physical affections Combeferre and Musichetta seemed to be so fond of.

The five of them had met to watch a movie – “just us single peeps!” as Grantaire had put it – but by now the movie was only background noise. Very soft background noise, as his friends knew about his sensitivity to noise, so they mostly kept it on a very low volume with subtitles switched on. Enjolras was not only waiting for autumn and winter in hopes of the air cooling down but also because he already looked forward to sipping hot chocolate – or luke-warm chocolate in the case of Enjolras and Joly – with his friends while watching the rain platter against the windows of their flats. It would be comfortable, comforting.

Right now, Jehan’s fan blew a soft breeze over the friends. At first, the noise had been highly irritating to Enjolras but he had grown used to it surprisingly quickly. Enjolras was currently reading his book – Harry Potter, basically every one of his friends had gasped in shock when he’d told them he hadn’t read it yet. He was entirely engrossed in the story, trying to help Hermione figure out the potions puzzle at the end of the first book, grounded by the soft weight of Grantaire’s foot on his calf, when his phone buzzed next to him.

[Unknown Number] I wanna talk

[Enjolras] who is this?

[Unknown Number] Montparnasse. I wanna talk, I’m downstairs. 5 minutes or I’m gone

Enjolras groaned and let his forehead meet the floor.

“What’s gotten into you?” Grantaire laughed softly, nudging his calf. “Something got your panties in a twist?”

Enjolras contemplated for a bit if he should take the bait and reply to the second rather than the first part but decided it would be better to simply be honest with his friends. He knew he had to leave and take his time; he wouldn’t want to talk to Montparnasse in passing.

“It’s just… something from my past came up and I gotta take care of it.”

Marius immediately sat up and looked down at him, concern written all over his face. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yes, I will be,” Enjolras smiled softly. “I might just need the flat to myself for a bit, if that’s okay?”

“Of course. Text me when you’re done?”

“I will. Sorry to be leaving you so soon.”

Enjolras got up from the floor, quickly gathering his things, putting on his shoes but foregoing a jacket. It was still too warm for that, even at that time in the evening. He said his goodbyes to his friends and left the flat. Once he was downstairs though, there was no Montparnasse in sight. Enjolras sighed softly. Of course. It was too good to be true. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message.

[Enjolras] I’m downstairs, where are you??

He watched the message go through, saw the two blue ticks appear which indicated that Montparnasse had read the message. It was just then when someone rounded the corner, a man dressed all in black, with his shoulders hunched.

“Enjolras,” Montparnasse greeted him curtly.

“Montparnasse. Shall we head to my flat? We can talk in peace there, my flatmate isn’t home.”

The man in question simply shrugged his shoulders and started walking. Enjolras quickly caught up with him and lead the way to his flat; it was about a 20 minute walk during which they stayed silent. They took the elevator up, shedding their shoes and bags. Automatically, Enjolras went into the kitchen and put on the kettle.

“Oh… do you want tea?” He asked Montparnasse, who had simply followed.

Montparnasse pulled a disgusted face and shook his head. “Not unless you plan on using vodka instead of water.”

“The alcohol evaporates when you boil it.”

“Oh God, Enjolras,” Montparnasse groaned.

“Please, don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Seriously? After all the shit that happened?”

Enjolras sighed and got out a mug for himself, quickly preparing his tea. “Do you mind if I take off my shirt? The fabric keeps irritating the wound…”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Enjolras discarded his shirt – specked still with small specks of blood which were invisible on the black fabric – and flexed his shoulders a bit, loosening the muscles as much as possible.

“So,” he started, turning back to Montparnasse, “why did you want to talk?”

“I had this… This is stupid. I just felt like I was falling and couldn’t shake the feeling. There was an extremely uncomfortable pull in my gut whenever you were near and I’m sick of it. Don’t want that shit so maybe meeting up with you is gonna stop it. Can’t have it distract me from work.”

“What exactly is your work?”

Montparnasse just shrugged his shoulders. “This and that, I suppose.”

“My offer still stands. You can come to our meetings and we can help you find something else.”

“I don’t need charity, Enjolras. I’m perfectly capable of making a life for myself.”

Enjolras sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. “I don’t doubt that but it’s still nice to have someone you can talk to, you know? I think it would do both of us some good, because you’re the only one I can be open with. You know about all the aches. With my friends it’s… well. Combeferre knows, Marius helps me dress the wounds in the evening. Jehan helped once, too, because Marius was out and I was with them. Everyone knows about the sensitivities. Do you have those, too? Light, smell, heat and coldness?”

Montparnasse, who was up until then still leaning in the doorway, nodded lightly. He crossed the kitchen to join Enjolras at the table.

“I do. I tend to wear sunglasses even at night. The back is the worst though. Some days there is so much blood… Sometimes the pain is unbearable.”

“Combeferre gave me a tincture for it. It’s elevating the pain a bit but not erasing it completely. I could write down the name, if you want to?”

“Actually…” Montparnasse sighed. “Yes, please. Fuck your helper syndrome but I do need it right now. Fuck.”

Enjolras had to chuckle a little. “Trust me, I’m no happier than you that it’s us two but I am happy that I’m not all alone in this situation. How well do you sleep?”

“Not too bad actually. My… my flatmate? Yeah. Uhm, he gave me a really thick and heavy blanket. I like the pressure it puts on the wounds.”

“I have a very soft blanket because pressure on it makes me really nauseous. Wait, I’ll show you!” Enjolras got up and quickly got his thin blanket from his room. “Touch it.”

He held out the blanket to Montparnasse, who touched it very gently.

“It’s really soft. It feels nice on the skin.”

“It’s the only blanket that doesn’t irritate my skin or makes it break out or hurts me. Don’t you get too hot when you sleep with a thick blanket?” Enjolras sat down again and folded his blanket, laying it in his lap and resting his hands on it.

“Hot? I’m always way too cold. I am always freezing, nothing can be warm enough for me. That’s why I enjoy the summer. I finally feel comfortable without wearing two scarves and a hat.”

“Huh.” Enjolras furrowed his brows. “I’m always way too hot. I sweat easily and this weather is just pure agony for me. Isn’t it hard to breathe for you?”

“Yeah but remember the really cold day we had at the end of March? Where it froze overnight? That one was fucking horrible. Whenever I took a breath, the sharp coolness stung in my lungs. It hurt so much.”

“That’s just highly interesting, don’t you think? How the coldness affects you as much as heat affects me. Do you think that’s maybe because I was always so full of passion and fire, burning for humanity while you didn’t care about them, were cold and indifferent?”

Montparnasse snorted. “I mean, God is anything but subtle but this is a bit too heavy on the symbolism, don’t you think?” He pitched his voice higher before saying: “Enjolras, you were always burning for humanity, now you are burdened by the flame within. Montparnasse, your coldness caused your fall, now feel the sharp claws of an icy embrace.”

Despite himself, Enjolras had to laugh a little. “Yeah, you’re right. It does sound ridiculous.” He sighed softly and took a sip from his tea. “Do you miss it? Miss home? Heaven? God? The others?”

Montparnasse shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t really care. If it weren’t for the constant pain, I’d be much happier here. Not that I am happy in any way but at least here on Earth no one is constantly watching what I’m doing, judging me, reprimanding me. I am my own person and I highly enjoy it. I’ve got a good life but the pain makes me wish I were back. How about you?”

“I miss it. I miss watching the people, I miss intervening and helping them with little things, I miss the knowledge that God is always there, that I can always rely on someone. I miss the freedom I had in Heaven. The freedom to move and jump around in time, the freedom to just observe and be. Here on Earth, everything is always so hectic, everything seems to be a competition. You are always trying to be better than someone at something and I find it highly exhausting. No one is enjoying life anymore, is enjoying the little bits and pieces. No one stops to think or value. I find it sad. Humanity is so good and wonderful, they’re so kind to each other but there is so much cruelty still. In Heaven, I could at least let a racist’s umbrella break during rain or have a homophobe drop their phone between the metro and the platform. I could potentially change and shape the future of a country by having a bus be late or by making someone sleep through their alarm. Here on Earth… I am so useless to the grand picture, you know? I help people and that’s nice. I like it, I like my job. It’s so nice to be helping people but… what about the grand scheme? I can’t do anything! We’re trying so hard and I really do believe in the cause the guys have set up but it is such an exhausting fight. So much paperwork, too.”

Enjolras shook his head softly with a smile. “I have the theory that we can redeem ourselves and I believe it has to be done within a year because after a year, my flatmate’s girlfriend is coming back, which marks the end of my stay here – probably. So by then I will have to have redeemed myself so that I can go back home, back to Heaven, to help in the grand picture of things again.”

“And how would you redeem yourself? Shouldn’t you try to make amends for what you fucked up? So, would you then meddle less with peoples’ lives while I meddle more? That’s bullshit. I don’t think we can ever redeem ourselves. I think the pain will get worse and worse until we give up. On ourselves and on this life. Maybe we’ll get to live with Satan then. If you think about it, Satan actually got what they wanted. They fell because of pride, because they strived to be God and rule over the Angels. They fell before humanity was created so it had nothing to do with them. And now they rule the underworld, where everyone will end up eventually. Maybe it’ll happen to us, too. That this life we’ve got now is what we’ve always wanted. Maybe Satan is in constant pain and we just don’t know.”

Enjolras hummed and contemplated the idea for a while. “You really don’t believe we can go back? We’re bound to Earth forevermore? God must offer redemption to Angels. Jesus actually offered redemption to a fallen angel. So there must be a way. Maybe you can redeem yourself by becoming a messenger for a religion. Spread the word of God or Allah or whomever you choose to follow.”

“You really want to go back? I thought this would be paradise for you. Finally with your beloved humans, finally able to revolutionise the world!” Montparnasse laughed bitterly. “What fucking bullshit you want. Everyone is a crook, one way or another. Every human lies! Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel their lies?”

“I… no, can you? You can tell when they lie? I can only feel their aura, if they’re happy or maybe anxious or sad. I can gauge reactions really well. Can you do that?”

“Nope and no interest in it whatsoever. The lying though, that’s very handy. And the languages! Can you do the languages?”

Enjolras nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! It’s amazing! I’m glad we kept that trait. It’s so helpful and I’m very thankful for it. But… uhm… do you also feel a sort of dread and nausea overcoming you when you get too close to religious houses of any kind?”

“Yep. Tried it once, nearly threw up, not gonna do that shit again.”

 “So…” Enjolras fiddled with the cup in his hands. “My friends are coming over tomorrow evening for a quiet night. We’re gonna make paper cranes.”

“Paper cranes?”

“Yes. There’s this Japanese tradition that you’re allowed to wish for anything once you’ve folded a thousand paper cranes. We’re hosting a party soon, for children of refugees, and we want to decorate the café with the cranes. Maybe you wanna join us? You don’t have to make cranes or anything, just hang out for a bit?”

“Only because I have this fucking weird feeling and it seems to get better when you’re close. Maybe that’s our fucking punishment, that we’re just… stuck together for eternity.”

“Then we’d have to become friends to redeem ourselves and I doubt that’s God’s plan. We’re starting at 8pm, so feel free to come whenever.”

“Yeah, maybe, we’ll see. Maybe the feeling is gone by tomorrow and then I don’t have to do that shit. Anyway. Like… I don’t know. I’m leaving now.”

Enjolras nodded softly. “Thank you for stopping by. I know it wasn’t easy. You’re welcome any time.”

“Whatever.” Montparnasse got up and hoovered by the door for a bit before shrugging his shoulders and leaving the flat.

With a sigh, Enjolras let his forehead fall softly against the table. He was exhausted. Being near Montparnasse both worsened and lightened his symptoms. Everything hurt twice as much but his mind seemed so much clearer, so much more at ease than usually. Maybe it hadn’t been such a clever idea to invite him. Then again, Enjolras doubted Montparnasse would turn up. It didn’t seem like him to join a paper crane crafting group on a Friday evening. Finishing the rest of his tea, Enjolras finally pulled out his phone.

[Grantaire] _hey you ok???_

[Marius] _Let me know if you need anything!!!_

[Jehan] _just remember: “the past is always tense, the future always perfect”_

[Grantaire] _?????_

Enjolras smiled softly and quickly sent reassurances: yes, he was okay, yes, Marius could come home now, and thank you, Jehan, accompanied by lots of heart emojis. He dutifully waited for Marius to come home so they could bandage his wounds properly before Enjolras practically fell into bed. Every day was just getting more and more exhausting. He was so tired; tired of everything. But he couldn’t sleep – too persistent were what he and Montparnasse had talked about. Did he want to go back to Heaven? Yes. Was he not satisfied on Earth? No, not only because of the pain. Wasn’t helping the humans what he’d always wanted, wasn’t Earth a paradise? No, because Enjolras knew that he could do bigger and better things from Heaven. He longed to go back, convinced the people he had surrounded himself with would simply forget him. If by a divine miracle or just because he hadn’t left an impact, Enjolras didn’t know. Maybe an Angel’s existence on Earth would be removed once they were redeemed. He still held onto the idea that he could go back some day. A little wiser, a little more aware, a little humbler. Maybe reconciling with Montparnasse really was the way to go.

The next evening, Marius and Enjolras had prepared everything for their paper crane folding session. Since the wind had picked up and a nice breeze was cooling Paris down, they had opened all the windows in their flat and turned off the lights to not attract too many insects. When their friends arrived, the flat was with the soft light of candles – scented, because the smell of Paris still was sometimes too much for Enjolras.

Everyone had brought something – self-made baguette, some wine, a salad, brownies. With the help of Bahorel and Combeferre, the living room had been cleared as much as possible to create enough space in the middle of it for blankets, the food and the paper cranes. They were softly chatting, laughing about some of the antiques they had gotten up to in their youth, talked about plans for summer. It seemed as if everyone already had something to do. Courfeyrac and Combeferre would go down to visit Courfeyrac’s parents and to officially introduce Combeferre as his boyfriend. Jehan was going on a three week long trip to India with Éponine, Marius visited Cosette in England. Feuilly had to work but Enjolras knew that Bahorel was going to surprise his boyfriend with a spontaneous trip to Switzerland. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were driving to Italy where Musichetta’s oldest sister was getting married – they’d stay for just over two weeks to help with the last-minute stress of such a big wedding. Grantaire was going to visit his grandmother in Spain for a while, which left Enjolras alone. Of course, he couldn’t complain. He hadn’t even existed – not as a human anyway – when they had planned their summer holidays. Part of him still felt disappointed and somewhat upset at not being included in anything at all.

“How many cranes do we already have?” Courfeyrac asked after a while.

“I’ve sorted them in bags of 50 and put them in individual plastic bags,” Marius replied, holding up one of the bags. “We’ve got, let me see, uhm, yes, we’re not even halfway through yet. This takes so much longer than expected.”

“Well, Bossuet isn’t folding, so we’re a man down.”

Bossuet smiled sheepishly. “I tried and you told me to stop, Courf. Not my fault I kept accidentally crumbling them up. Besides, I have the very important job of bring you drinks every now and then.”

“I would have the highly important job of playing with Enjolras’ hair because he looks on edge yet I am unfortunately doomed to fold paper cranes forever and ever and ever,” Courfeyrac sighed dramatically.

Enjolras laughed softly. “I think you may take a break and play with my hair. It’ll help me concentrate better which means I’ll work quicker so we’ll reach our goal sooner.”

Courfeyrac beamed and immediately sat up straight and spread his legs. “Alright, settle down!”

After figuring out the best way without putting too much strain on his body, Enjolras settled into a position which was comfortable, allowed him to fold and allowed Courfeyrac to play with his hair. That boy had probably the softest hands and Enjolras simply enjoyed his touch immensely.

It was another hour before the doorbell rang. Enjolras had informed his friends that maybe someone else might be joining them, but he had not actually thought Montparnasse to turn up. But there he was, in all his black-clad glory.

“Just here to hang out,” he muttered, marching through to the living room. He mumbled a quick Hello and made himself comfortable on the sofa, not talking to anyone, only playing on his phone.

Still, Enjolras was glad he was there. They needed each other, in a strange sort of way. And maybe spending time in the vicinity of his friends meant that Montparnasse would let go off his aversion against humans. Maybe he would realise how wonderful humanity truly was. Maybe that could redeem him. It simply felt good to combine his two homes.

The friends worked late into the night – Montparnasse had left at some point, unnoticed by all but Enjolras – until the thousand cranes were done. The party wasn’t until the next weekend but they agreed on decorating the Musain on Thursday already. That way, it wouldn’t been too stressful should they have forgotten to buy or order anything important.

With Enjolras only working half a day on Thursdays, he found himself at the café in the company of Grantaire and Musichetta around noon that day. The others would slowly get in later, depending on when university, studying or work was finished. Musichetta was busy serving her customers, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire to start decorating the upper floor by themselves.

“So, I moved on to book two of Harry Potter. I’m not sure I like it very much yet,” Enjolras said after a while of working in comfortable silence.

“The series or this particular book?”

“The book. The series itself has its appeal, I won’t deny that. But… I’m not so sure about the second book.”

Grantaire snorted. “I have never met a single person whose favourite book was the second. Joly loves the first one the most because that’s when it starts. My favourite is the fifth, Éponine likes the last, Marius the third. While the second book and certain events within become really relevant later on, it kind of seems like it wouldn’t have much purpose while you’re reading it, right?”

“Yes, exactly!” Enjolras groaned. “That Lockhart guy? So insufferable! I don’t understand why Dumbledore would hire him! Does he not want his students to get a proper education? Then again, do they even get one? Do they have Maths and French or English? There’s quite a few flaws I’ve already uncovered.”

Grantaire laughed quietly. “Of course you have. There definitely are plot holes. Such as: do they not learn about the Second Wizarding War? Wouldn’t that be kinda important seeing as it had only happened 11 years ago? Why does no parent rebel against Snape? For how long has he been a teacher there? How can they expect Ron to participate in class when his wand is broken? It’s all very strange.”

“See, that’s why I could never write a book. I’d just worry too much what mistakes and flaws people might discover when it’s too late. I’d rather write essays or articles for magazines.”

“That does suit you a little better. Do you need a hand with the cranes there?”

“Huh? Ah, no, thanks. I’ll just climb on a chair, it’s all good,” Enjolras smiled gently.

He grabbed the nearest chair and quickly fixed the crane a little higher up, satisfied with his work. With a sigh, he let himself fall onto the chair, taking a deep breath. Even the minimal physical strength he needed to muster up for this task seemed to be too much. His body ached from stretching and crouching, from the shirt rubbing over his bandaged wounds again and again. He grew dizzy, sick.

“I need a moment…” Enjolras mumbled before he quickly vanished to the restroom.

Splashing some water into his face, Enjolras stared into the mirror. He didn’t need this right now, not when so much was still to be done. Five minutes, then he’d get out again to help Grantaire. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a moment to calm down and focus. Sometimes it helped to walk through the aches in his body to sooth them.

There was a soft pounding all over, beginning in his feet. They were strained from being on his feet for so long. That could be helped. Enjolras simply sat down onto the floor – not really his preferred choice of seat but it would have to make do. Once his weight was off his feet, he observed his legs. They tingled uncomfortably, the jeans irritating the skin underneath. His stomach hurt and so did his back. It was sharp, there no matter how he moved, no matter how he sat. He could feel the heat from his skin radiating off the walls, could feel it creep up his back.

By the time Grantaire came to check in on him because he had been gone a suspiciously long time, Enjolras was hugging his knees to his chest, staring off into space.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire knelt down in front of him and gently laid a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

Enjolras slowly shook his head. “No. I… No, I’m not,” he whispered. “I haven’t been for a while.”

Grantaire nodded solemnly and carefully leaned his forehead against Enjolras’. “This okay?”

“Yeah. But no hug, promise.”

“I promise.”

Enjolras smiled lightly and gently pressed against the touch, relishing in it. It had been so long, he was so touch starved. There was nothing he wouldn’t give for a day without all his troubles. He could sit in the park and deeply inhale, he could drink scalding hot tea, he could lay in the grass and look for cloud shapes. But most of all, he could get hugged by his friends. He would start with Combeferre, because his hugs seemed to be very comforting. Then Courfeyrac, a little overenthusiastic but warm. Marius, a little on edge because he couldn’t believe he was allowed to hug his flatmate. Grantaire, whose hugs simply looked like the end of all things.

Enjolras couldn’t help the tears escaping. He had tried to keep them in, really. Especially in font of Grantaire.

“Hey…” Grantaire gently squeezed his hands. “I know, the world is such a cruel place, especially to someone so good as you, Ange. Just know that I’m here for you, okay? We all are.”

Enjolras nodded softly, hiccupping a bit. “It’s just so hard…”

“I know, Ange, I know.” Grantaire carefully leaned back a little and pressed a warm, comforting kiss to Enjolras’ forehead. “I know, which is why we’re friends. We have each other’s backs. Sometimes, life is just shit but you will come out stronger.” He kissed his forehead again, something which made Enjolras shiver pleasantly and gently press against Grantaire.

“I was thinking…,” Grantaire said, “maybe you’d like to come to Spain with me during the summer? Relax a little, enjoy the sun as much as you can, but just get away from Paris. Get away from the noise and the smell, enjoy a little life at the Spanish coast. What do you say?”

“I’d love that very much,” Enjolras said, wiping away his stubborn tears. “I’d really love it, Grantaire. Thank you so much.”

“That’s what friends are for. Reckon you can keep going?”

“Need another five minutes. Stay here with me?”

“Yes, for as long as you want me to.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is finally Grantaire's time to speak - or at least to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter 4 of exr week - horribly late, I apologize! The prompt is Alternate Universe and to be quite frank, the only thing that is an AU about it, is that this is from Grantaire's PoV. Please enjoy your read :)

Grantaire wasn’t a believer. It wasn’t restricted to religion, no. It also applied to the democracy they were currently practicing, Courfeyrac’s and Combeferre’s plan to change first the uni’s mentality and then Paris’ way of thinking, love at first sight, skin care products, the Easter Bunny (now, Santa Claus, that was an entirely different story) and magnetic nail polish. He did, however, believe in aliens, simply because he didn’t believe that humans and animals could be the only living beings in the entire, endless galaxy. He didn’t believe in himself but very much so in his friends – except Courfeyrac’s and Combeferre’s ambitious plan though that had less to do with them and more to do with the plan itself. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he believed in the goodness of humanity. He knew he didn’t believe that humans were positively doomed. He was certain fate was a scam, but he wasn’t so sure about soul mates. He believed in marriage but not really, not after the failure that was his parents’ marriage. He believed in therapy and meds, he believed that there was always hope for the individual.

None of that changed when he met Enjolras. He was still a non-believer, he was still a bit cynical but now the thought of Providence didn’t feel as silly anymore. How else could he explain the painting? It simply came to him, one stormy night. As if the muse had kissed him, though he also didn’t believe in such things.

Grantaire had painted the night away, and the next day, until he was satisfied with what he deemed his best work so far. He usually didn’t even paint, had to go out to buy acrylic paint and a canvas big enough to host his mind. It was probably the first time since he dropped out of university that Grantaire even held a brush. His usual medium were pen, pencil and his tablet – everything he needed as a graphic novel illustrator. Yet he couldn’t help it, he had to bring his idea to life and it had been worth it. For once in his life, Grantaire had been so satisfied with a painting, he had actively gone out and contacted galleries and exhibitions. It was just his luck that someone was planning an exhibition on humanity, their failings and fallings. He had invited the initiator to have a look at the painting, see if she wanted it in her gallery. The young woman had probably been even more enthusiastic than Grantaire’s friends about the falling angel, wanted it in her exhibition and even offered to find an agent who would sell the artwork.

Grantaire just hadn’t been sure if he wanted to part with it just yet. Somehow, the painting gave him a good feeling, even if Joly complained that it was just plain creepy to be watched by a giant, half-naked fallen angel while they were having dinner on the sofa. The painting, Raphaël, had stayed for half a year, leaning against the living room wall. Only then had it been transported to the gallery where it would stay for another half a year.

On the evening of the opening, Grantaire was a bundle of nerves. He wanted everyone to feel the magic he felt when looking at his painting, the sheer power it exuded. Had Grantaire been a different man, he would’ve filed meeting Enjolras under the category Fate, but he was himself and while it was a highly suspicious coincidence, anything else was simply too unbelievable. Meeting Enjolras, knowing, as Marius’ flatmate, he’d become something – someone – in his life, one way or another, Grantaire had made the decision to sell the painting. Why would he need it now? He had the original – though, really, was the Enjolras the original? Sometimes he felt reminded of Pygmalion and his statue. Not that he truly believed he was the creator of Enjolras, such things would not be possible. Yet he entertained the thought from time to time, especially after he learned of Enjolras’ sensitivities. Grantaire had painted a fallen angel – maybe he should’ve painted something cheerier, something not as tragic, something easier to live with should he really have created a human being through his art.

Those thoughts never lasted for long as Grantaire knew he couldn’t just make his paintings come to life. If he had that power, he and Jehan would have a flat full of kittens and puppies. Since that wasn’t the case, Grantaire knew he had no hidden magical powers.

Enjolras, on the other hand… Grantaire wasn’t so sure about that. Of course, he actually was sure that Enjolras did not have any supernatural powers whatsoever, but he liked to joke about it, given Enjolras’ incredible ability to read the mood of everyone around him in the blink of an eye. He was fluent in more languages than Marius and Jehan combined!

At first, Grantaire had been fascinated with Enjolras. Intrigued, a little intimidated, maybe even scared. He had felt guilty for causing a panic attack, had felt incredibly weird to meet Enjolras again after the gallery incident. But Enjolras had taken it in stride. That boy was just too good for the world. He always helped others, always strived to be the best version of himself he could be, always encouraged his friends to do the same. Sometimes Grantaire had trouble believing he was real.

There was one incident, about a month and a half after meeting Enjolras for the first time, where Grantaire had dreamt that Enjolras would turn to dust should he be kissed. The dream had confused him. Sure, Enjolras was incredibly handsome and attractive but also infuriating. He displayed just as much passion for social issues as Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He believed too much in the good of humanity. Grantaire saw himself in Enjolras, naïve and young and so full of hope. He was scared to see him fall, too. To watch him realise the reality of life, the truth of what people could and would do, given the chance. Yet he admired him, venerated him, loved him. It had crept up on him, slow but steady. One day, Enjolras’ laugh was as always, the next it reminded him of angel choirs – figuratively speaking. Suddenly, Grantaire wanted nothing more than to kiss the pain away, to relieve him from some of his burdens. He wanted to hold him but knew that Enjolras was entirely opposed to most sorts of physical contact. Playing with his hair was wished for, having his feet on Enjolras’ legs had always never been a problem. Grantaire might not know much, but he knew that he couldn’t go for such long a time without a proper hug. He needed his friends’ physical affection, wouldn’t know what to do if it ceased. Yet Enjolras seemed entirely fine without it – such people were known to exist, only that Grantaire hadn’t known such people until now.

Then again, he hadn’t known anyone quite like Enjolras until Enjolras himself had come along. Enjolras, who seemed to have an all-encompassing love for every human being. Enjolras, who wanted to be loved by everyone but knew he needed to make enemies in order to help and survive. Enjolras, who had a dark past he never talked about.

God, wouldn’t Grantaire love to be the one to shine light onto that past? He’d love to know, would love to help him overcome it. There was a deep sadness within Enjolras, something that sometimes shone through when Enjolras let his guard slip a little. Grantaire knew that expression just too well. From himself, from Joly, from Jehan – from most of his friends, unfortunately. He knew that a little love, some affection wouldn’t magically heal everything but it sometimes lightened the pain. Sharing is caring, as Courfeyrac liked to say.

They weren’t at that point though. Sure, they were friends, but they weren’t as close. Closer than Enjolras was with some others but not as close as he was with Marius or Courfeyrac and Combeferre. Then again, he lived with Marius and spent a lot of time around the couple for planning purposes. Maybe they were close. Sometimes, Grantaire was unsure. Sometimes, he had the feeling Enjolras wanted to say more than he did, wanted to do things he supposed he shouldn’t. It was exhausting, sometimes, because Enjolras was… well, Enjolras was so many things and along those things, he was Grantaire’s crush.

Grantaire’s crush, who possessed angelic beauty. Whose smile could light up entire stadiums. Who was good to the core, who had unshakable faith in humanity, who was religious but believed in every religion there was on Earth. Who had soft hands and a softer voice which could rise to become a powerful weapon.

His only flaw was that he preferred cats over dogs, but Grantaire could work with that.

No, of course Enjolras had more flaws, but who hadn’t? And who had said that a flaw is always something negative, something bad that made a person unlovable? Enjolras was very much lovable, despite his sometimes exhausting faith and energy. There was so much about Enjolras that Grantaire didn’t know and he desperately wanted to find out.

That was why Grantaire had invited him to join his summer holiday plans – and immediately regretted it. What was he thinking? Inviting his crush to spend his holidays on his grandmother’s farm in rural Spain? Oh boy. He’d be trapped with Enjolras for two entire weeks. He’d need to entertain him. His abuela would surely assume Enjolras to be his boyfriend – Grantaire hoped his reaction to that claim wouldn’t give his true feelings away.

Even though Enjolras sometimes seemed to give off the vibe that he was interested, Grantaire couldn’t be sure. Maybe he should ask Marius. Maybe he should just ask Enjolras himself.

Then there was the issue of Enjolras’ touch-aversion. Grantaire was a very physical person, very touchy. He thrived off cuddles from Joly and Bossuet, loved when Jehan and Marius played with his hair. He liked it when Éponine lay half on top of him while thumbing through her phone. Grantaire could hardly imagine a relationship without physical touch, no matter if platonic or romantic. Of course, he did touch Enjolras. A foot on his calf, a hand on his arm. Enjolras seemed to enjoy it when someone played with his hair. Maybe that could be enough for Grantaire. Scratch the ‘maybe’. If he’d never get to hug Enjolras or curl up on the sofa with him, it was still worth it. Enjolras was worth it. He was worth the world and Grantaire hadn’t felt this way in forever. He did not want to fuck this up.

Maybe Spain was the way to go. Romantic sunsets observed from high up the hill or at the beach nearby. Maybe they could even ride the horses. Could Enjolras ride?

[Grantaire] _can u ride a horse?_

[Enjolras] _I am not sure. Why?_

[Grantaire] _abuela has horses. Thought we could go on a horse trip in spain. Thru the hills and along the beach. What do you think???_

[Enjolras] _sounds nice! We can certainly try. Can I come over? Marius has been chatting to cosette for hours now and I feel lonely. CO2 are on a date and I think jehan is on a trip, idk if physically or mentally._

[Grantaire] _I think physically. Course u can come over! We can plan Spain?_

[Enjolras] _I’ll be there in 10. Looking forward to it!_

Grantaire smiled dumbly at his phone before shaking his head and quickly tidying up his living room. He was eager to spend more time with Enjolras, to make him laugh and to argue with him about current and past issues. Grantaire simply wanted to hear Enjolras’ voice.

Ten minutes later, a beaming but tired-looking Enjolras greeted him at the door. Grantaire greeted him with bises before inviting him in.

“Do you want a tea or some water?”

“Hmmm… a tea would be nice, please. Do you need any help?”

“Nah, thank you, I’m good. Make yourself comfortable. I’ve already got some pencils and paper on the table, in case you wanna take notes.”

“Fantastic. Thank you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire smiled softly and squeezed his shoulder, quickly making two cups of tea. He joined Enjolras soon again, sitting down next to him on the floor.

“Thank you. So,” Enjolras started, “how do we get to Spain?”

Grantaire shrugged his shoulders. “Plane.”

“Oh… uhm… I… oh God. I cannot possibly fly.” Enjolras shook his head vehemently, holding up his hands. “I’m shaking. I can’t… Grantaire, I….” He swallowed thickly.

“Okay. Okay.” Grantaire softly took Enjolras’ hands in his. Shit, great way to impress your crush. “We don’t have to fly. I promise you. No flying.” He squeezed his hands. “Enjolras, we will not fly, I promise you that. We will not fly.” Grantaire carefully directed Enjolras’ hand onto his heart. “Can you feel my heart beat? Concentrate on it, breathe with its rhythm.”

Enjolras nodded and closed his eyes. Soon, his breathing evened out again and he managed a small smile.

“There we go. Good, Enjolras. How else would you like to travel? By coach, train or hired car?”

“I don’t know.” He opened his eyes, shocking Grantaire with the emotions within.

“Okay. Don’t worry.” Grantaire gently pressed a kiss to the back of Enjolras’ hands. “We can take the train to Valencia and hire a car from there. It’ll be a road trip! Might take us two days, I suppose. Is there a direct train from Paris to Valencia? We should look that up now.”

“Would we have to sleep on a train?”

“Not if you don’t want to. We can take a break in between. Maybe in Barcelona? Travel there from Paris, spend a day or two in Barcelona, then travel to Valencia and pick up the car. Would that be okay?”

“Do you like Barcelona?”

Grantaire nodded. “I love the Park Güell. It’s incredible. Sagrada Familia, of course. Casa Milá! Gaudi was just such an incredible artist and I cannot wait to show you his work all around the city! We can go to tiny restaurants and eat amazing tapas. The city is so full of life and beauty.”

Enjolras smiled softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your eyes sparkle quite as much as now.”

Grantaire laughed softly and blushed a little. “I just really love Barcelona. And I’m excited to show you where I’ve spent most of my childhood summers. On the way back, we could stop in Valencia and maybe Tarragona?”

“I’m not familiar with Spanish geography, so I’ll follow your lead. For once,” Enjolras smirked.

“Oh, how gracious of you, Ange.” Grantaire grinned and kissed his forehead softly. “Let’s book trains and hire cars and find hotel rooms. Or hostels?”

“AirBnB. Hotels are too expensive, hostels are… very full of other people and usually don’t offer a private shower.”

Grantaire nodded in agreement and got his tablet so they could look up everything they needed to know. It would be quite an adventure, something Grantaire hadn’t done yet. A new experience mixed with something familiar – he was eager to share the adventure with Enjolras, no matter how small of an adventure it would be.

Grantaire wasn’t a believer. But maybe, just this one time, he could believe that things would turn out to be utterly perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras & Grantaire stop in Barcelona and it leaves a lasting impression on both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha, sooo this is the fifth installment of exrweek2017 (Road Trip), horribly late but be rest assured that I'll upload the last chapter before July 8th. So, please enjoy and maybe check out the [fake instagrams ](http://mariuspondmercy.tumblr.com/post/162455815014/exrweek2017-road-trip-enjolras-grantaire-stop) I made for it on tumblr?

The night after his planning with Grantaire, Enjolras had not slept a second. The had tossed and turned as much as possible without upsetting his back. Or his hands, as they had become incredibly sensitive all of a sudden as well. They were dry and cracked and no amount of hand moisturiser seemed to help – not even the horribly expensive brand Joly had recommended.

Had it been a mistake, to agree to join Grantaire? For a moment, he had feared he’d fuck it all up, getting a panic attack just because of flying. He was used to flying, he was used to heights. But that had been back in the day, nearly half a year ago now, even though it felt like a lifetime.

Enjolras was worried about many things. Would he be able to sit on the train comfortably for such a long journey? They had seat reservations, so at least he wouldn’t have to stand, but he was still concerned about his back, since he couldn’t lean back against the seat rest. Surely Grantaire would tease him about it. Maybe he’d even grow suspicious and guess his secret. Then there was the issue of their AirBnB in Barcelona. It was one room, luckily with two beds. Enjolras had insisted on it, simply saying he preferred to have his own space. In reality, of course, he was terrified of what could happen would they share a bed. He had once accidentally fallen asleep on Marius’ bed next to him after chatting half the night away. Marius was a cuddler, arm slung around Enjolras’ shoulders in his sleep. They had woken up with Enjolras’ shirt soaked in blood. Plus: the intimacy. Even if Grantaire wouldn’t accidentally hug him at night, Enjolras couldn’t bear the thought of a sleepy and disgruntled Grantaire being the first sight at morning. He knew he’d want to run his hand over his cheek, knew he wanted to trace his beard until his fingers reached his hair and he could wrap little strands around them. He was craving physical, platonic intimacy – but by now he wasn’t sure how platonic his cravings where when it concerned Grantaire. Enjolras really could not risk it. He’d be back in Heaven before he knew it, he didn’t need attachments on Earth. He was already too attached to everyone. But even sharing a room with Grantaire meant that Enjolras had to sleep with a shirt. He couldn’t forgo it, not without offering Grantaire a reasonable and believable explanation for the – by now – gaping wound on his back. Sometimes Marius wondered how Enjolras was still able to stand on his feet but the pain had faded to a constant in his life now. He endured, because it was his punishment, because it would be worth it in the long run.

Enjolras worried about the car ride, too. He had never been in a car before and he had no idea how good of a driver Grantaire was. Plus, the whole not-leaning-against-the-seat would be twice as difficult in a car. And who would apply his tincture? It dulled the pain so nicely and Marius was so used to helping Enjolras – he really couldn’t reach his back on his own.

He should’ve thought of these things before agreeing. It had been such a spur-of-the-moment decision fuelled by loneliness, fear and the desire for intellectual and physical closeness.

There was also the matter of their actual stay on the farm. Enjolras had failed to ask if they’d have separate rooms but since Grantaire had informed him his grandmother would think them boyfriends, he had faith in Grantaire to clear up the confusion and be offered a single room – should there be enough rooms available, of course. Would Grantaire and him even be compatible for two full weeks plus travel? Maybe they’d just argue with each other all the time. Lots of friendships broke over a vacation. The potential loss of Grantaire as his friend was what Enjolras concerned the most.

He had talked to Marius, Jehan, Combeferre and Courfeyrac countless times about his fear. What if Grantaire would grow annoyed by the amount of travel they did and blamed it all on Enjolras. He wouldn’t, he saw it as an adventure, Combeferre assured him. What if his sensitivities and the broken state his body was in would cause Grantaire to resent him, as they couldn’t do everything Grantaire probably wanted to do. He’d never resent him, Jehan told him, as Grantaire was way too good a person to reject people just because their bodies weren’t able to do certain things. What if he accidentally upset or hurt Grantaire with something he said? Then he’d simply apologise and explain what he had actually meant, Courfeyrac said. What if Grantaire realised how boring Enjolras was? That was not possible for Enjolras was not boring in the least, Marius explained.

The reassurances of his friends eased his worry a little but did not cease it. On the morning of the start of their journey, Enjolras was therefore a bundle of nerves. He had agreed to meet Grantaire at the Musain so they could grab coffee and some food for their trip. Enjolras was fifteen minutes early, suitcase standing next to him, trying to convince himself that Grantaire would indeed show up. He nearly breathed out in relief when he saw Grantaire approaching him, a smiled quickly forming.

“Good morning,” Enjolras greeted him. “Are you excited to start our trip?”

“Very much so,” Grantaire nodded eagerly. “I can’t wait to see Barcelona again and share it with you! So, coffee to go and some snacks for on the train?”

“I want the lemon muffin, I already decided. And a Red Velvet Cupcake. And maybe a couscous salad. What about you?”

“For breakfast? You’ll have that for breakfast?”

“What? No of course not!” Enjolras laughed softly. “It’s for the trip! I’ll get a croissant for breakfast. And tea.”

“Oh, that makes sense, yes. I’ll get a breakfast panini and a coffee, I think. We have to take lots of photos on the trip, promise? We only have one selfie of us!”

Enjolras gasped in mock shock. “Oh no! However shall we explain that to the authorities?”

“What authorities? The Selfie Police?”

“Nope, the authority for the maintenance of friendship by virtue of new media.”

Grantaire burst out laughing. “Of course, we cannot disappoint the authorities!”

Enjolras grinned. He had noticed that he found extreme pleasure in making Grantaire laugh, especially that full-belly laugh he sometimes had. It made Enjolras’ heart flutter to know he’d caused his friend so much joy and amusement. Enjolras’ vowed to make Grantaire laugh at least twice a day while on their trip.

“We cannot disappoint our friends either! I’m sure they expect daily snapchat updates as prove that we haven’t murdered each other yet. Or that I wandered off in Barcelona and got lost.”

“If you were to get lost, I’d despair! I’d sit in front of the Sagrada Familia, sobbing, asking people if they’ve seen an angel. I’d be a bit concerned if they’d say they have but whatever.”

Enjolras laughed softly. There was no way Grantaire could know. Such a comment was just Grantaire being Grantaire, Grantaire complimenting him  - complimenting his looks and his personality. Enjolras had learned that early on. Being called an angel by Grantaire meant that Grantaire believed him to be fundamentally good and pure and honest as well as incredibly beautiful; Enjolras disagreed with either statement. He constantly lied to his friends, betrayed their trust and concealed his true identity. There was nothing good or honest about him, nothing at all. And if Grantaire knew of the wounds on his back, the angry red marks left on the ever-itching skin on his legs, the dryness of his hands – surely he wouldn’t find him physically beautiful anymore. Everyone had secrets, sure, and no one had ever pressured him into talking about his well-hidden past but Enjolras couldn’t shake the feeling that his friends were quite unhappy with his reticence. Back in Heaven, no had to have such concerns – this was entirely human. Either you liked the other Angels or you didn’t – like Montparnasse and Enjolras. Their ideas and ideals were just too clashing for them to get along well. Yet here on Earth, Montparnasse and Enjolras got on surprisingly well – probably bound by circumstances, Enjolras figured. They still argued about humanity and its worth, about the futility of their respective ways of life. Enjolras was especially displeased with Montparnasse’s chosen path as Angels were taught to be honest, always. About their intentions, their wishes, their desires. To that, Enjolras stuck. Yes, he lied to his friends, but he was always clear about what he wanted and if he liked someone. But humans? Oh, humans could be so tricky to read, so cunning in their intentions, so secretive in their desires. Humans were complex in a way Enjolras found exhausting sometimes.

Marius was secretive because he was scared his passions would drive his friends away. Courfeyrac didn’t always state his desires because he feared he’d be too much of a burden. Combeferre was dishonest as to not inconvenience anyone. Grantaire lied because he thought the darkness within would cast shadows on everyone around him.

Enjolras risked a glance towards Grantaire. They were seated in their own compartment - someone was due to join them about an hour into their journey. Grantaire smiled softly.

“How’s the train ride?”

“Good! It’s my first trip ever, apart from the metro. I’m a little nervous, I have to confess. I know trains from Harry Potter.”

“I can assure you that no dementor is going to attack us.” He gently patted Enjolras’ hand.

“And the trolley lady with the sweets?” He put on an exaggerate pout, knowing fully well that Grantaire could understand the artificiality of it. “Will she come and offer us chocolate?”

“Oh honey, Ange, you angel of light, I don’t know how to tell you.” He gripped both of Enjolras’ hands and squeezed softly. “I am so sorry but… there is no trolley lady.”

Enjolras gasped in mock shock. “No! Tell me this isn’t true! You’re lying!”

Grantaire gravely shook his head. “I am so sorry, mon ange. The trolley lady called this morning to cancel her shift. She said you’re sweet enough, she doesn’t need to sell any more candies.”

Enjolras laughed loudly and snorted. “You are an idiot and a flatterer, Monsieur!”

“That’s my second name. Loïc Idiot Grantaire!”

“That’s your first name?”

“Yeah. It’s a bit silly, isn’t it? Not too keen on it. And it’s always so exhausting to explain to people that I’ve got two dots over the I…”

“Tell me about it.” Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Raphaël, the e with a trema,” he recited.

“But back to seriousness.”

“You can be serious?” Enjolras cocked an eyebrow.

“Babe, I can be mad serious.”

“Oh my god!” Enjolras nearly doubled over from laughter. He wiped a few tears from his face and took a deep breath before grinning at Grantaire. “Okay, in all seriousness now: what did you want to say?”

“Just checking in if you can handle the train ride. Is it too loud? I bought earplugs in case it’s too loud and I got one of the masks Joly has in case you’re sensitive to the weird aircon air in the compartment. I also got a playlist with whale sounds on my iPod.” Grantaire frowned a little. “Joly said it’s supposed to be soothing but I listened to it and it was… strange? It agitated me.”

Enjolras smiled softly. “Grantaire, stop rambling, please.” He gently squeezed Grantaire’s knee. “Thank you. I appreciate it so much. I don’t think I want the whale noises, I think they would upset me, too. Maybe the earplugs, later on. Right now, the noises are still bearable. And I like chatting to you. You make me laugh. I like that.”

Grantaire blushed lightly. “I like making you laugh. You have a lovely laugh. Like an angel.”

He pulled a face, crinkling his nose a little. “Why do you always call me that?”

“What?”

“Angel. Or Ange. Is there… is there a specific reason for it?”

“Other than the fact that it just seems to fit because you’re otherworldly beautiful and good to the core? Nope. It’s just that. Does it bother you? I can stop. I can offer other nicknames. Apollo, Achilles, Helios, Horus…”

“Achilles isn’t even a sun god. He’s a demi-god and he was vengeful and murderous.”

Enjolras shivered a bit. Was that how Grantaire saw him? He’d seem Achilles’ wrath and anger himself, had observed his rampage, his utter killing spree. Horrendous to watch; it had disgusted Enjolras. A god, no matter how little of a god, should not treat humans in such a way. A god should always be kind and patient, understanding, demanding and empowering.

“Because he loved,” Grantaire said. “Because someone murdered the most important part of his life. He lost himself because and for love. You don’t have a Patroclus but you have humanity itself in his stead. I see you as someone who loves with his entire being, someone who would move Heaven and Hell for the ones he loves.”

“Hell doesn’t exist,” Enjolras mumbled. “There’s only Heaven because at the end of the day, God accepts everyone except those who killed in Their name.”

Grantaire hummed softly. “Okay. Point is, I don’t see you as some vengeful demi-god. I see you as someone who is so pure and passionate.”

“I think I can accept that sentiment,” Enjolras smiled. “Thank you. For the record, I think you’re an incredibly passionate person as well. I admire that you do what you love, that you take no shit and speak your mind. I also think you’re beautiful,” he added bashfully.

“You think humanity is beautiful. Last week, you called the art on your latte beautiful.”

Enjolras blushed. “I just appreciate beautiful things. That doesn’t diminish the worth of it. It doesn’t diminish your worth or your beauty.”

“Riiiight, no we’re getting too deep,” Grantaire laughed awkwardly. “Don’t tell me you’re just being honest, you always say that.”

“Because I’m always being honest,” Enjolras grinned at him.

Grantaire shook his head in amusement and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence by any means, not at all. Enjolras enjoyed watching the landscape rush by, watching the steady rise and fall of Grantaire’s chest – watching the small sliver of skin peeking out from where the hem of his shirt had ridden up. He envied Grantaire, in a way. He was able to lean back and relax, to maybe nap a little or change position when his limbs got too stiff. Enjolras feared that he was doomed to sit straight for the rest of the journey.

Combeferre had given him heavy painkillers, just in case, but Enjolras didn’t quite trust them. Every painkiller he’s had so far had been fairly useless. They didn’t dull the pain; that was something only the tincture managed to do.

Still, he couldn’t sit like this for the entire train ride. Maybe he could lean his elbows on his knees and prop his head up in his hands? That would be more comfortable. If Grantaire were to ask, he could tell him he had a rash on his back which starts itching when there’s too much heat and friction. Yes, that was a good plan, Enjolras told himself.

Satisfied with his solution, he got his book out of his bag – the fourth Harry Potter – and began reading from where he had left off. He was completely engaged in the second task when Grantaire gently laid a hand on his arm to bring him back to reality.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to eat something? I’m actually getting really hungry now. It’s been close to three hours now…. I’m practically starving.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just finish this chapter, okay?”

“Alright. I can grab us some coffee from the food compartment.”

“There’s a food compartment in this train?”

“Do you want to come with me and check it out?”

Enjolras nodded eagerly and stuck his bookmark between the pages before following Grantaire. Halfway to the compartment, they decided to simply explore the entire train. Enjolras was a little nervous someone could steal their luggage, but Grantaire reassured them that, as long as they had their ID, their wallets and their phones, everything else was replaceable. While that did nothing to quell the bit of anxiety arising in Enjolras, he obliged still, too eager to see what this strange world still held in store for him. In the end, after their seven and a half hours long trip with a change of trains in Nimes, Enjolras was sort of sick of trains. He enjoyed the rumbling of the wheels but grew incredibly sick whenever the conductor braked too harshly and abruptly. Overall, Enjolras still thought it was better than a much shorter trip on the plane. Besides, Grantaire and him had chatted lots, played games (Who can see more cows? Punch the other when you see Object X. Make up the lives of people passing the compartment), read, slept and ate. Now, Enjolras felt stiff, exhausted, sweaty and was in pain.

Since it was only 2pm though, they agreed on bringing their stuff to their AirBnB before getting proper lunch and going on a sightseeing trip. Enjolras, ever the planner, had four different routes, depending on what they wanted out of the day, if they were keen on taking a Hop On Hop Off bus or just wanted to wander around, eat ice cream and soak up the atmosphere of bohemian Barcelona.

They ate at the Mercat De Santa Caterina, Grantaire rambling on and on about the new markets and the genius that was the colourful, ceramic roof in the shape of waves. He was so passionate about the intricate design, the many colours representing the fruit and vegetables sold at the market – Enjolras had a hard time looking away. He clung to Grantaire’s every word, captivated by the fire in his eyes. After lunch, they took a walk around the nearby park before Grantaire insisted they simply had to go see La Pedrera. Even though it threw off his plan, Enjolras agreed, eager to listen to more of Grantaire’s fun facts and passion.

“The building was designed to look like an open quarry,” Grantaire informed him as they stood in front of it. “It’s actually on the list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites. The banks of the Seine as well, by the way.”

“Not the Eiffel Tower?”

“Nope. I don’t know why it isn’t. Strange, isn’t it?”

“A little. Did you also want to see Casa Batlló?”

“Mhhh, yes. I actually have a bit of a surprise for you which I wanted to tell you after we’ve seen this. Okay?”

“Yeah, I can wait,” Enjolras nodded, throwing Grantaire a gentle smile.

“Fantastic!” He beamed at him.

Even though the pain in his back has gotten a lot worse since lunch, and even though the heat and air was stifling, and even though all the walking around was taking its toll on Enjolras, he decided – as they stood on the roof of La Pedrera, gazing over Barcelona and down into the yard – that he wouldn’t have had it any other way. The day had been perfect so far. Spending time with Grantaire was easy, comfortable. Their conversations were never dull, never boring, always intriguing. Grantaire made him laugh, made him interested in things he hadn’t been interested before. If he wouldn’t know that it couldn’t, shouldn’t be, Enjolras would allow himself to love Grantaire.

“What is the big surprise then?” Enjolras asked after their four hours long tour through the house.

By now, he was incredibly tired and sore. The day had exhausted him like barely a day before. Getting up so early, the time on the train, the sightseeing – and it would go on tomorrow, too! In addition, Enjolras was so worried about their sleeping situation, about the bed they had to share, for more than one reason.

“Uhm…” Grantaire bit his lower lip and cast his eyes down. “I hope you don’t think me too weird for it and I hope you like it and it’s okay if you don’t or if you think it’s too strange or too… if it’s too inappropriate or something like that or… fuck. It was a stupid idea. I…” He took a deep breath. “It’s really nothing big, I don’t know why I’m getting so worked up about it, I just…”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras softly cupped his cheek. “Look at me.”

Grantaire obliged, wincing lightly. How unfair, Enjolras thought, how unfair and beautiful the evening glow illuminated Grantaire’s eyes.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll love it, okay? Or I’ll groan and roll my eyes but still be fond of it.”

That elicited a chuckle from Grantaire, making both relax visibly.

“I got us two tickets to the evening event at Casa Batlló. Magic Nights. It’s got live music and two drinks, so we’d need to grab something to eat before…”

“Why would I not like that? I think it’s wonderful.” He gently stroked his thumb over Grantaire’s cheek before letting his hand drop. “But I get to pick dinner, okay? I want tapas. I can pick and mix there, which is great with all my weird food sensitivities.”

“Tapas sound great,” Grantaire smiled.

Dinner was a quiet affair. They found a small tapas bar, packed away in the nook of some side street – a friend of a friend had recommended it to Grantaire. The food was absolutely incredible and Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he ate so well. Yes, the smell of the sea fruit their neighbouring table had was making his head spin, but it wasn’t all too bad when he concentrated on other smells and scents, on something he liked, something which didn’t overpower everything else. Enjolras was looking forward to the rest of their night. Exploring Casa Batlló with Grantaire seemed to be a perfect end to the day, because it was familiar, safe, calming. Music and drinks? Just the cherry on top of it. Of course, it was weirdly romantic, maybe too much so, given the unspoken tension and attraction between the two of them. But Enjolras was looking forward to it.

“We definitely need to send so many photos to our friends from today,” Grantaire said once they were on their way to Casa Batlló.

Enjolras nodded eagerly. “Yes! Tell them of the beauty of the city.”

“And the beauty within the city,” Grantaire grinned, gently bumping his shoulder against Enjolras’, blushing slightly.

Enjolras ducked his head and smiled shyly. “I’m glad we already established that you’re a flatterer, now I don’t have to repeat it.”

“Anything to make you smile.”

“You always do.”

“As do the rest of our friends.”

_Our_. Enjolras revelled in the sound of that word. It made him feel so good to know he was part of something so much bigger than him, a group so kind and strong and full of love. Exactly these people were why Enjolras had fought, why he had broken the rules and been cast out of Heaven.

“I think I want to send postcards. One to Montparnasse as well.”

Grantaire nodded. “Sure, do that. I don’t know him well, but I’m sure he’ll be secretly pleased.”

“So am I.”

Just this morning, Montparnasse had texted him, knowing of his travelling plans. The text had been a simple _guess I wish you a good vacation or smth shitty like that_ which had amused Enjolras to no end.

“And I think I want a slower day tomorrow. A bus tour? Hop On Hop Off so we can decide where to spend our day? And maybe Sagrada Family as the last thing that day?”

“That’s a really good plan,” Grantaire agreed. “We can find obscure little food shops, take selfies in front of famous sites, take a walk on the beach… Do you want to go into the cathedral? There’s an entry fee.”

Enjolras contemplated it for a moment. He remembered only too well how Notre-Dame had affected him – and that had been just after the fall. Now, everything was ten times worse. He didn’t want to find out just how badly he would react to Sagrada Familia but he desperately wanted to feel closer to God again, wanted to step foot into a church and confess. What, he wasn’t sure of. Maybe his fears, maybe his desires. Maybe his suspicion that he’d be back in Heaven by March next year the latest – only six more months to go. Time on Earth passed so slowly; it felt like he’d been in Paris for half an eternity already. Maybe he searched for absolution from his lies.

“Yes, I want to go in. I’ll pay for both of us. I insist. Let the religious guy handle this.”

Grantaire laughed softly. “Okay. Please imagine me protesting more against you paying.”

“You got us tickets for tonight. It’s only fair and I really, really want to see it. Do you think the inside is as beautiful as Notre-Dame?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been inside either cathedral.”

Enjolras hummed in acknowledgement. “That’s fair. Though you’re definitely missing out on some amazing architecture.”

“I’ll gladly accompany you to Notre-Dame once we’re back in Paris.”

Enjolras smiled at him, squeezing his hand quickly. He hoped the gesture conveyed the emotions he had trouble finding words for, all the feelings muddling his mind. They stayed in comfortable silence, loosely holding hands while strolling through the Casa Batlló. Here and there, Grantaire told him about Gaudí, about his work and his influence on Barcelona – on all of Spain –, his role as one of the most important Modernists in history. Enjolras was fascinated. Before Grantaire, he had had no interest in art of any kind. As an Angel, there were more pressing matters he had had to attend, more important causes to devote himself to. But Grantaire had opened his eyes, had made him realise just why art had been and still was so incredibly important. He had told him about art periods and their meanings and agendas, about the styles of different artists. Had ranted about the Western-centrism in university and that he’d changed that with the help of Combeferre – now he was actually about to start teaching a course on Latin American Modernism once a week. Enjolras knew how nervous he was about it, how scared to fuck up. But all their friends truly believed in Grantaire.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Enjolras asked as they leaned against the balustrade, the music wrapping them in a soft blanket of Spanish guitar sounds.

Grantaire hummed softly. He leaned over and carefully placed a hesitant kiss on Enjolras’ shoulder, making the other man smile tenderly. Enjolras knew they should sit down and talk. He knew it couldn’t go on like this because it started to develop in a very clear direction with a very clear aim – an aim Enjolras could never reach because he’d only stay on Earth for another half a year. Of that he was convinced. Yes, he would miss his friends. He would miss the softness and comfort Marius radiated, the warmth of Courfeyrac, the clever discussions with Combeferre, the soft-spoken and radical poetry of Jehan – he would miss them all so much. Sometimes, during fitful nights, Enjolras even wondered if he would really be able to do more in Heaven than on Earth.

“I’m getting really tired,” Grantaire confessed quietly. “But I don’t really want to head back just yet. I’m enjoying myself.”

“I’m glad. Do you enjoy speaking Spanish to the people around us? The waiter, the vendors, the baristas?”

“I do. It’s just so nice to be immersed in Spanish again. Always takes me back to my childhood, to happier times.”

Enjolras reached between them and squeezed Grantaire’s hand. They stayed for another hour, talking about nothing and everything, savouring the comfortably warm summer evening. Getting home and ready for bed was a quiet ordeal. Enjolras let Grantaire use the bathroom first, hoping he’d fall asleep while Enjolras got ready afterwards. He didn’t dare examine his wounds like he usually did in the evening because that would entail taking off the bandages – and there was no way he could wrap his wounds again. Combeferre had given him special medical plasters which were easier to apply by himself but it was still tricky. Before he had left, he had practiced with Marius’ help. He managed, but it took a while. He could, Enjolras decided, very well keep the bandages on until they were at Grantaire’s grandma’s farm. There, Grantaire would be too distracted to notice how long Enjolras spent in the bathroom, trying to apply the tincture and tend to his wounds.

With a deep sigh, he pulled a loose sleeping shirt over his head, praying silently that it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. He’d never slept with his bandages still on. Enjolras worried they’d chafe or itch or bleed through. Just another reason why anything but friendship would be impossible – how’d he convincingly tell a partner that he’d rather sleep alone? Especially if he’d would love to share his bed with the special someone? No. Too complicated.

As hoped, Grantaire was already asleep when Enjolras re-entered the bedroom. He quickly took his side of the bed, curling up on his side, facing Grantaire – it served more the purpose of protecting his back than to gaze upon his companion’s sleeping form. Though he didn’t look for long; sleep took him quickly, despite the sharp pain in his back. His bones were aching, every part of his body felt exhausted and too heavy. It had been a good day.

Enjolras awoke with more pain than he’d had for several weeks. Shit. He was drenched in sweat – taking off the bandages for a shower was inevitable. Showers in themselves were… tricky. He preferred baths because there was no pressure on his back, no tiny pebbles of water hammering down onto his skin and spine, his wounds. Clenching his teeth, Enjolras stripped and carefully unwrapped the bandages. The day was not off to a good start; his wounds looked horrible, close to being infected. He contemplated sending a photo to Combeferre but realised he’d left his phone on the bedside table.

Enjolras turned on the shower carefully and only a little. The light drizzle at least allowed him to shower without excruciating pain. He took one of the strong painkillers Combeferre had supplied him with and tried to apply the tincture to his back. It worked semi-well – Enjolras hoped it was good enough to get through the day. Putting on the band-aids was a little easier thanks to his practicing sessions. It wasn’t perfect and ripping them off always left his skin irritated, but it was better than nothing. Showered, dressed and after taking a deep breath, Enjolras was ready for the day.

They had breakfast at a small corner café away from the too touristy areas – a friend of a friend of a grandson of one of his grandmother’s friends had recommended it to him. Enjolras was, once more, amazed by how seemingly easy it was for Grantaire to just connect to people, to find all these authentic and fantastic places. Afterwards, they bought tickets for their bus tour, which started them at the Plaça de Catalunya, taking them right to La Catedral, where they took a break to admire the old, Gothic building. Even standing in front of such an imposing house of God made Enjolras shiver. He felt goose bumps on his skin, felt the sickness creep up his throat. Yet he was fascinated, magically drawn towards the cathedral. So he suggested they’d climb it, have a look over the city from its rooftop. Grantaire was quick to agree, pointing out bits and pieces, telling him the cathedral’s pond inhabited 13 geese – supposedly the age of Saint Eulalia when she was murdered. As always, they dutifully took photos of their adventure, posting the best once on Instagram and the ridiculous ones on Snapchat for all their friends to see.

Enjolras and Grantaire ate lunch at a too crowded and too hyped restaurant at Port Olímpic – the food was good but not exceptional, yet the view excused the circumstances. Grantaire simply looked radiant. He practically vibrated with happiness, something Enjolras had rarely seen on his friend with quite such an intensity. Grantaire, when happy, was even more beautiful than usually.

It was warm that day, sweat trickling down both their bodies. Grantaire joked that he hoped _fucking sweating through his shirt in the fucking Sagrada Familia_ wasn’t a sin in some way. Enjolras laughed, assuring him that God couldn’t care less about the state Their visitors were in. Modesty was key, and respect. Everything else was irrelevant. Yet the heat caused Enjolras to be even more miserable than that morning. His back hurt, the tincture not doing its assigned work. Of course, he had a smaller dose than usually, forgoing the one the evening before. Pain and heat made him queasy, dizzy. His blood rushed in his ears and more than once he had to ask Grantaire to stop and rest for a minute or two. He enjoyed the bus tour, he enjoyed exploring with Grantaire but he feared the shortcomings of his human body would ruin their enjoyment of the trip – or at least dampen it considerably. Yet Grantaire didn’t seem fazed at all. He happily obliged, taking photos, offering Enjolras water to drink and some fruit to eat.

Enjolras deeply regretted loving that. He didn’t want to fell so loved and protected, it would make parting from this world so much harder. He already worried enough about Marius and Jehan, knowing they’d probably believe they’d been left behind, abandoned once more. He didn’t need the added pressure of worrying about Grantaire and what effect it would have on him. But maybe it had been God’s plan all along – to give him friends he loved (maybe even something more than a friend?) to truly test him and his resolve. Enjolras was ready for the test.

Their second to last site of the day was Sagrada Familia. Enjolras had dreaded and anticipated the visit throughout the entire day. Now that he stood in front of the stately building, he could feel his blood pumping in his veins, thick and hot. This was it. Another test.

“She’s… gorgeous,” Grantaire whispered in awe as they entered the cathedral.

Enjolras took a steadying breath, following Grantaire closely. He could feel God’s presences in every little pebble of the building, in every nook and crook of it. It was overwhelming, even more so than Notre-Dame had been. Yet it was exciting, it was liberating. Being so close to God again – it was thrilling. Maybe he should do it more often in Paris. Visit every Christian church, every Muslim mosque, every Jewish synagogue, every Buddhist temple – wherever he could feel God’s presence. Maybe the smaller houses of worship wouldn’t keep sending sharp jabs of pain up his back.

He was impressed by the symmetry of it, the sheer size of the cathedral. The light shone through the stained-glass windows, glistening, shimmering, accentuating. Enjolras wanted to bathe in the sea of lights and colours he saw, wanted to submerge himself in the splendour of it.

“Gaudí said colour is the essence of life,” Grantaire’s hushed voice came from behind him.

Enjolras spun around to face Grantaire, beaming. “I love it.”

“You look like you’re going to cry,” Grantaire teased.

“It could very well happen.”

Enjolras was overrun with feelings – the good and the bad. Longing, fear, hope, anger, pain, unconditional love and awe. His whole being was in an exceptional state. It drained his energy, tired him more than he could say. If God would only give him a sign… He wandered around the interior, drifting towards the large windows. When he turned around after what seemed like an eternity, he saw Grantaire bathed in soft orange light, his eyes full of wonder and admiration. With a soft smile, he approached him again.

“I want to pray before we leave again. Will that be okay?”

“Of course,” Grantaire smiled softly. “Just find me again when you’re done. I’m just wandering around.”

Enjolras nodded thankfully and made his way towards the altar. Kneeling, he started praying. He knew not which language he was speaking – maybe even in the tongue of angels – when he muttered his words of praise and worry. Why was he without guidance? What could he do to receive Their grace again? How could he help Montparnasse? Was the pain forever, immortal as he was? Why wouldn’t They just give him a little bit of help? Or were his friends his help? Were they his guides?

Enjolras was quiet after their visit. He was still deep in thoughts, still feeling slightly sick and overwhelmed. He felt weak, stumbled so much that Grantaire made him sit down and bought him ice cream, hoping the sugar would get him up again. It helped a little, though Enjolras didn’t know what helped more: Grantaire’s steady presence besides him or the sugar.

In the evening, they bought street food and churros, enjoying the colourful light show at Font Mágica, completed with music accompanying the spectacle. At some point, Enjolras’ hand had found its way into Grantaire’s, sweaty fingers fitting perfectly against each other.

The day had tired them both out. As soon as they reached their accommodation, Grantaire fell onto the bed, declaring: “I will never, in all my life, take another step!”

Enjolras chuckled lightly. “Alright. I’ll leave you behind then, tomorrow. Walking the city all by myself, alone. Getting on the train to Valencia, all alone. Getting the car there, just me and my shadow. Visiting your abuela, telling her the story of how her grandson was left in Barcelona due to his displeasure with walking.”

Grantaire laughed loudly and sat up properly to look at Enjolras. “You are ridiculous, Ange.”

“I might be,” Enjolras smirked.

“You spend too much time around Courfeyrac.”

“I don’t think so. I enjoy spending time with him. He’s a little ridiculous and over-dramatic. It’s fantastic,” Enjolras beamed.

“Ah, unfortunately his heart has already been captured.”

“So has mine.”

“If you say ‘by God’… I’d actually not say anything because to each their own.”

Enjolras only smiled softly and shook his head. “You wanna head to the bathroom first or shall I?”

“You go. I cannot possibly move!” Grantaire let himself fall back onto the bed again. “See? No way, nu-hu.”

“Who’s ridiculous now?” He asked with a fond smile. “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

A little nervous and all too aware of how much time he’d need to spend in order to fix his back, treat to his new bruises and oily skin, Enjolras retreated into the bathroom. First, a peeling. Never wrong. It would help with his pores, clogged from sweat and dirt. Afterwards, Enjolras examined his back. Blood had seeped through the band-aids, staining his dark-red shirt. Well, shit. As predicted, the residue from the plasters left his skin irritated and aflame. On accident, he had managed to get the sticky part of the band-aid right onto the wound. Ripping it off had resulted in Enjolras biting his lip hard, drawing blood. Shit times two. Now the wound was open again. He twisted and turned in front of the mirror, examining how bad it was. The worst was the pain. It had settled in his stomach now, the nausea, like a heavy stone. Tears gathered in his eyes, threatening to spill over. How he hated this life sometimes! Why couldn’t he just enjoy their trip? Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t his body just simply work? Why had he been burdened with such hardship? Could he change is abilities against the pain? Get rid of both – he’d do it in a heartbeat. No more pain, no more nausea, no more feeling like he was wading through thick mud when he was walking. No more fluency in languages, no more being able to read peoples’ auras, no more pull towards Montparnasse. He’d do it. No more. He could get hugged, then. He could curl up on the sofa and lean against Courfeyrac. He could cuddle in bed with Marius while watching movies. He could slouch in his seats, he could travel to work without earplugs, he could open the windows without feeling as if he was suffocating from the smells. Of course, he’d have to find a new job – what good would he be without his languages? Maybe Musichetta would take him back.

Enjolras tried to even his breath but it was racing as much as his thoughts were. The buzzing of his phone pulled him out of his head for a moment.

[Montparnasse] _shit what the fuck is going on with you I can feel that to here!! Major inconvenience!!!_

Enjolras swallowed thickly. Shit. If Montparnasse could feel it, it must be worse than he thought. Of course, the logical part of Enjolras knew that he was having a panic attack. He knew it would subside but he also knew the pain would last, the blood would come, the aching bones and heaviness when walking, the feeling of suffocating _because_ he breathed.

He opened the door of the bathroom, croaking out a feeble “Grantaire?”

Grantaire’s head snapped up and he immediately got up to cross the room. “Shit.”

“I need help,” Enjolras confessed.

Grantaire nodded and reached out slowly, probably gauging Enjolras’ reactions.

As he didn’t pull away, Grantaire carefully cupped his cheeks and ran his thumbs over Enjolras’ cheekbones, wiping away the few tears which had managed to escape despite Enjolras’ best efforts. Enjolras leaned into the touch on his left cheek, turning his head ever so slightly to kiss Grantaire’s palm.

“Okay. How calm are you?”

“Quite so. I’m…” He pulled back and thrust a small flask into Grantaire’s hand. “I need you to apply this on my back and I need you to not ask any questions, please.”

“I promise,” Grantaire swore.

Enjolras turned around, folding into himself a little, exposing the angry red wounds on his back. He felt the air around Grantaire change, felt his reaction towards it. Curiosity, disgust, pity, and oh so much worry. Enjolras hissed in pain here and there but felt much better once the tincture was applied. Grantaire was gently in his movements, careful. When he was done, he pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Enjolras’ neck. Enjolras stiffened under his lips before slowly facing Grantaire, staring at him.

“I… shit, I’m sorry! I don’t what---I… Enjolras…”

Enjolras sent a silent prayer to Heaven, hoping someone, anyone, would listen to him. He leaned in, lips only inched from Grantaire’s mouth.

“I want to,” he whispered.

“Me too,” Grantaire whispered back. “Do you permit it?”

Enjolras simply grabbed Grantaire by his shirt and pulled him in, kissing him softly. Maybe none of this would work out. Maybe it was all doomed from the beginning; maybe he had been doomed since eternity. Maybe it wasn’t such a clever idea – but Enjolras would be damned if this didn’t feel right. When Grantaire made a particularly happy sound in the back of his throat, Enjolras couldn’t help but chuckle softly against his lips. It caused Grantaire to pull back and laugh, leaning his forehead against Enjolras’.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Okay. Tell me what you need?”

“Patience,” Enjolras answered quietly. “I need patience.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we will finally find out why Enjolras fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as promised, before July 8th! I am sorry it took me a while to finish. Thank you all for your patience, for your feedback and your support! I know a few people have found their way here even though they're not keen on the trope or don't usually read Enjoltaire. So shout-out to everyone who still gave this a chance! It was fun to write and I hope I did the ending justice :)   
> Please enjoy!

When the night turned day, Enjolras awoke from a tumult outside. He groaned softly, not only from the pain in his back, but also from the incredible heat. It didn’t help that Enjolras was naturally warm – a living furnace, according to Marius, who seemed to enjoy his warmth when they snuggled carefully on the sofa. On top of that, Enjolras’s cheek was smushed uncomfortably against the very warm chest of Grantaire.

Enjolras groaned lightly and blinked into the day. He didn’t quite want to move just yet because moving meant waking up and waking up meant facing the new day – and a conversation with Grantaire, which Enjolras already dreaded.

“Hey you,” Grantaire mumbled, voice still laced with sleep.

Enjolras groaned again and buried his face in the crook of Grantaire’s neck. It simply felt so right, so comfortable to be so close. He had really been touch-starved, but he hadn’t quite realised just how bad it had been.

“Still sleepy?” Grantaire carefully ran his fingers over Enjolras’ arm, making him shiver lightly. “Our train doesn’t go for a few hours so we can wake up slowly and have a lazy morning with nice breakfast. How does that sound?”

“Very good,” Enjolras smiled.

He propped himself up and blearily rubbed his eyes. He stretched and immediately hissed in pain. Shit. Sometimes, when he had had a good night and woke up comfortably, he momentarily forgot about his back.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, all good. I just sometimes… it’s nothing.” He sighed softly. “Grantaire, I want to apologise for my break-down last night. I think we need to talk about it. And… about everything else that happened.”

“Okay, yeah, alright.” Grantaire nodded lightly and sat up properly. “Do you wanna talk right now?”

“I think that would be best, yes.” Enjolras ran a hand through his curls and chewed on his bottom lip nervously. “I’m so scared.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you everything but I can tell you that I’ll probably leave France once Cosette is back from England.”

“What?” Grantaire stared at him. “Why? I mean… feel free to but… I… why?”

“It’s my call to help people and my time in France will be up by then. So… we… us… I don’t think…”

Grantaire nodded gravely. “So, the kiss…?”

“Was wanted, enjoyed and not regretted. You have to believe me. I like you so much but I’m so scared. I’m definitely leaving and I’ve already gotten too attached to our friends and to you and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then why do you leave? Just stay, it’s that fucking easy.”

“Grantaire, I can’t, I really can’t but I can’t explain why. It’s good though, I can help more than I can help here. You know that’s all I want.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re a fucking literal angel, Ange.” Grantaire groaned in frustration. “Fuck this shit. I really had hope. Should’ve known.”

“I’m so sorry,” Enjolras whispered. “Trust me when I tell you that it’s all on me. You’re perfect and if things were different – if I were different…” He sighed and smiled wistfully. “We could go on museum dates, weekend trips to the country side. I always wanted to go snorkelling in the South.”

“Where does that leave us? What do you want to happen now?”

“I want us to stay friends. I want us to be like we’ve been before. But I don’t want us to ignore what happened. You know about my back now. You know about the pain. It’s… excruciating. I cannot lean against anything, I cannot sleep on my back, I cannot hug anyone, I cannot wear tight shirts or carry backpacks. Sometimes, I bleed through the bandages. I’ve thrown away so many of my shirts because they were stained… Even if I were to stay, I’d never be able to give you what you deserve. I’d never be able to just curl up on the sofa with you, I’d never be able to go swimming with you or be truly relaxed when we’re out and about. I could never take a bath with you, I could never lay on the grass and watch clouds.”

Grantaire nodded softly. “I’ll try my best to keep everything like it used to be, I promise. I don’t want to lose you, even though I will. I know I will and it scares me how much it bothers me.” He leaned over and carefully kissed Enjolras’ cheek. “I’d take you like this, you know? Without swimming, without slouching, with complicated sleeping arrangements. I don’t mind, Enjolras. I’ll support you. So, if you’d wanted to give it a shot until you leave…”

Enjolras smiled sadly. “I think I’d only break my own heart.”

“Even if we’d keep it casual? Just sort of like before but with a little more kissing?”

“And what about the feelings?”

Grantaire shrugged his shoulders. “I’d be willing to give it a try. We don’t have to do much. Hold hands, maybe, if we feel like it. Lean against each other when we sit next to each other. Chill on your bed. You can sleep on my stomach. I like it when people sleep on me. I think we can really enjoy each other a lot, given the situation.”

“Yeah?” Enjolras’ eyes lit up. “I’d like nothing more. So we can be friends with benefits? Not sex-benefits but romantic benefits.”

“Yeah. Friends with romantic benefits. So, like, what’s the deal with PDA? Do you wanna tell the others?”

“Uhm… little PDA but tell the others. I’ll explain it to Marius and Courfeyrac and Combetaire and you can talk to Éponine and Jehan and Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta and then that leaves Feuilly and Bahorel. I think they should know to understand the situation. I planned on telling everyone about my back anyway. Makes it easier and I trust them.”

“Okay. I can deal with that. I also don’t want anything on social media. I don’t think I’d like that.”

“No, I understand. I wouldn’t like that either. So… I… thank you, Grantaire. Thank you for being so understanding and wonderful. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Grantaire smiled softly. “You’re an angel, that’s what you did.” He kissed the tip of his nose but was immediately pulled in by Enjolras for a proper kiss.

Enjolras was incredibly confused still, and so insecure. He knew he wanted this, wanted Grantaire, wanted what they had then established during the rest of their vacation in Spain. He liked the casual touches. He liked curling up on his bed, looking at Grantaire, running his fingers through his curls while Grantaire told him about his day at uni or about work. He was wonderfully intimate and Enjolras wanted nothing more than for it to never end. But Enjolras was so scared because of that. He wanted to hold onto it, hold on to Grantaire and what they had. He wanted to hold onto his friends. To the gentleness in Marius’ voice and his mothering, To Jehan and their beautiful poetry which reminded Enjolras so much of the duality of humanity. To Courfeyrac’s exuberant bubbliness and happiness, to Combeferre and his idea of a revolution through education. He loved his friends – maybe even more than he had ever loved humanity from high above. Enjolras even wanted to hold on to Montparnasse, despite the bitterness and cruelty.

Montparnasse and Enjolras had established a new routine over the last months. They met up once every two weeks, usually at Enjolras’ place. They always made some kind of soup, having found out that they both had a knack for it, before retreating to Enjolras’ room and talking about the hardships they’d faced that week due to their ever-prominent abilities.

If it weren’t for the constant pain and the anxiety about his future, Enjolras would be truly happy.

When summer turned into autumn, the heat grew more bearable. Enjolras enjoyed the misty weather and the increasingly cold days. He liked scarves and beanies, especially those stolen from Grantaire – his not-boyfriend-boyfriend. With autumn also came the end of the silly season – a dull in news and political ideas during summer – which meant an increase in bills and news Enjolras could get angry about. There had been a rise in right-wing ideas and media presence, going as far as them demanding to hold speeches in public places. Especially a right-wing festival with music, speeches, food and drinks on campus infuriated Enjolras.

“I want to stage a counter-protest,” Enjolras announced at the next meeting. “I want to gather as many people as possible who’ll make as much noise as possible to drown out the fucking Nazis.”

Grantaire quipped an eyebrow. “And how will you do that without it being illegal? You need a permission to stage a protest. And a license in case you want to offer food or if you wanna have a concert. You can’t just go there and start a protest. I mean, you can, but you might get arrested or beaten up if you do.”

“Alright, okay, valid points. Thank you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire blew him a kiss and winked. “Glad to be of help, Ange. I’ll be the devil on your shoulder.”

Courfeyrac wolf-whistled, making Enjolras laugh a little.

“Alright okay, yes, we get it, you’re all keen on innuendos, can we get back to the important things now, please? We have a Nazi protest to interrupt. How long does it take to apply for all the licenses? I’ve never done such a thing before…”

“We can make a plan tonight?” Combeferre offered. “You can come back to our place and we plan it together. We’ll go through everything we need, which licenses and permits, if we need to hire security or not. Calculate costs and everything and once that is fixed, we can discuss everything else at the next meeting. What do you say?”

“We should put in a vote first,” Enjolras said. “If most people here are on board with a counter-protest.”

“Alright. All in favour please put a hand up,” Courfeyrac instructed.

Quickly, all hands shot up and Courfeyrac threw Enjolras a grin. “So, our place afterwards? You may bring a friend. Or a boyfriend.”

Were they boyfriends? Enjolras didn’t know. They hadn’t really labelled their relationship, not beyond _we want this and we want each other come what may._ It was okay for now, they didn’t need more because they both knew that their time together was limited – just that Grantaire didn’t know the entire truth.

“I volunteer as tribute,” Grantaire grinned.

“Oh, I hoped Jehan would volunteer,” Enjolras sighed. He winked at Grantaire and shifted his attention to Combeferre and Courfeyrac again. “Okay, let’s plan afterwards then. I have so many ideas already.”

They discussed one more point on their agenda for the day before everyone parted ways. Marius offered to stay behind and help but Enjolras knew that his friend had a skype date with Cosette – even though his help would be valued and wanted, Cosette was a little more important at that moment. As an Angel, Enjolras had always scoffed at people who were too devoted to their lovers, who did everything for them. To him, there were far more important things than romantic love – love for all humanity, love for change, love for a country or a city, love for an ideal, a vision. But then he had moved in with Marius, had seen the love in his eyes whenever he’d spoken about Cosette. It was an entirely different kind of devotion, a love so pure that any Angel would envy it. A love so selfless, so unconditional – Enjolras had never seen anything like it. Add Combeferre and Courfeyrac and suddenly Enjolras had fallen in love with falling in love. He’d realised that romantic love was not a liability but a fuel – now, seven months later, Enjolras felt that fuelling himself through Grantaire. He was hesitant to call it ‘love’ though, given their situation.  

Back at Courfeyrac’s and Combeferre’s flat – next to Grantaire’s flat a second home for Enjolras by now – the group ordered pizza and gathered around the kitchen table.

“Do you want to organise a protest or a festival?” Combeferre asked as he laid out his colourful pencils, highlighters and papers. “It didn’t get quite clear what exactly you wanted.”

Enjolras hummed softly. “I don’t know. I think a festival would be harder to organise but would also have more of an impact.”

“It’s also easier to attack you then, verbally and physically, Ange. A counter-protest would make more sense, I think.”

“But a festival is more fun!” Courfeyrac beamed. “How about we make plans for both, calculate a rough estimate and let the others vote?”

“A good idea. I know a few people who can definitely help us with food stalls. Some of the clients I’ve worked with would be happy to help us.”

“Okay but you have to have a license in order to run a food truck. And a health certificate,” Combeferre said, quickly jotting down a few notes.

“I can mail a few people. There are cooks and former waiters, maybe they have a health certificate.”

Grantaire groaned and leaned his head against Enjolras’ shoulder. “Ange, light of my life, my angel, such bullshit. Like, we can’t plan anything if we don’t know if we have food trucks. Cause then we can’t calculate costs properly. Not that I could calculate anything anyway. So maybe that’s a thing you need to know first.”

“But we can still plan everything else. Music and speeches and security,” Enjolras argued back.

“Not really cause we don’t know how much space we’ll need then, so we can’t plan in how much security would be necessary. Or escape routes or if we need toilets.”

Enjolras groaned in frustration. “Okay. So let’s plan a counter-protest first, then, and I’ll send mails tonight and ask a few people.”

“Can you see what a literal angel he is,” Grantaire grinned. “Working with an NGO, volunteering at a shelter, planning protests, wanting to punch Nazis…”

Grantaire’s expression grew sober, something Enjolras had seen only all too often. It meant that he went into a more than positive headspace – in this, probably his mental talk of _why would someone like him be with someone like me._ Enjolras reacted quickly, lacing his fingers with Grantaire’s and squeezing softly.

“I think we all want to punch Nazis,” Enjolras said softly. “I condemn violence but that’s just different. Are you gonna design flyers for the protest? Or festival, whatever it may be.”

“Can do that, yeah,” Grantaire nodded, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’ temple.

“Good. How many flyers? 150? Is that too much? I have no idea.”

“Depends. Do you want to hand them out at uni and leave some in cafés?” Combeferre asked. “Because then we’ll need to add a zero to that number.” At Enjolras nod, he quickly wrote down the number and pulled up their print shop’s website to check the prices before jotting them down.

“Do we need the same amount no matter if festival or protest?” Enjolras wanted to know.

Combeferre nodded. “Yes, same amount. Plus social media adverts and stuff like that. Let me just…” He quickly wrote it down, adding the names of a few YouTube and Instagram people Courfeyrac and Grantaire knew personally through their own social media activities.

“Thank you, Combeferre. What else do we need? Speakers, right? And topics. I wouldn’t mind talking about the refugee crisis, seeing as I work with many refugees and immigrants and can get their approval of my speech. So who else and what else?”

“We could ask Feuilly to talk about Islam and islamophobia,” Courfeyrac suggested. “And Jehan and I could talk about LGBT-issues. We definitely need to mention the instalment of gender-neutral toilets at uni as our achievement and tell people that we’re currently working on getting them installed in government buildings and schools as well.”

“I could talk about art and how art helps overcome stereotypes. How long is each speech supposed to be?”

“No longer than 10 minutes,” Combeferre said. “We don’t want to bore the people or give the Nazis too much time to attack us. I’d say an hour of speeches max and then an open discussion?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Sounds like a good plan. Anyone who has questions about anything is allowed to come forward. We need a stage and a microphone and a sound system then.”

Combeferre wrote that down, too, and looked into their calculation of previous protests to note some numbers. “Okay, this should be the basic cost. We still need a permit but that we can only arrange once we know if we’re going for a protest or a festival.”

“I’ve already written a few people,” Enjolras piped up. “Mahdi says he’d be happy to cook something Persian for us but he isn’t sure if his Iranian health certificate will be accepted and if he’s even allowed to help because he has no work permit. The other two who answered basically said similar things. So I think food trucks with international food that is authentically prepared isn’t something we can do, unfortunately. Which leaves us with the protest.”

Enjolras sighed softly. It was such a shame and such bullshit that people couldn’t do what they loved wherever they wanted just because some slip of paper was missing! How could they integrate themselves into society and bring their culture and ideals to France when no one gave them a chance? Were people really so blind to believe that France had always existed the way it existed now? That no one had been an immigrant? The entire royal family of all of Europe was basically made out of immigrants! There was German dude in England or an Australian woman in Denmark! How could they all be so ignorant?

He was still silently fuming when he unlocked the door to his flat but the sight of Marius curled up on one of the kitchen chairs with a cup of tea before him uncurled some of the anger within.

“Hey,” Marius smiled. “Had a good meeting?”

“It was productive. We ate pizza and chatted and decided on a budget for the counter-protest. How was your talk with Cosette?”

Enjolras dropped his keys on the table and hung his jacket over the back of the chair before making himself a cup of tea as well.

“It was good. I really miss her, you know? We weren’t together for long before she went away and I’m constantly worried that I might lose her to someone who is physically available. We talked about that a lot today. Apparently she has the same worries? Who would’ve known…”

“Of course she does. She knows that you’re a very physical person and worries that you’ll find someone else. She might’ve hoped that Courfeyrac would supply you with your daily need of physical comfort and now you’re stuck with me, so obviously she’s concerned. Probably more about your well-being than about you actually cheating. Anyone who’s ever heard you talking about her knows how much you love her.”

A few weeks ago, Enjolras had the pleasure of meeting Cosette for the first time. She was incredibly charming and clever; Enjolras could feel her love for Marius radiating even through the laptop’s screen. He hadn’t worried about Marius anymore after that, but he had felt guilty. Guilty for not being able to provide him with hugs or cuddle sessions, like Courfeyrac had and still did frequently. Guilty that he’d soon leave his friend again, knowing of Marius’ abandonment issues.

“I hope you’re right,” Marius sighed. “I don’t want her to worry. She’s just… it feels like she’s the one. We were dating for not even three months when she left for England and yet I still feel that way. It’s silly, isn’t it? Maybe that feeling won’t last. I wouldn’t know. I don’t know any real adults. Like, authority figures or something.”

Enjolras hummed softly. “And the ones you know… well, Grantaire’s parents split, Combeferre’s father died early, Courfeyrac’s biological dad left his mum…”

“So did Cosette’s dad. And her mum died so she grew up with her uncle. Feuilly is an orphan, not to mention Éponine’s parents… no, the only really healthy relationships I’ve seen so far are our friends.”

“You’ll laugh but I didn’t believe in romantic love until I met you,” Enjolras chuckled. “Which now sounds like you’re the reason for my romantic love, but that’s not what I meant. I just realised that romantic love didn’t have to be a distraction. So, thank you. Thank you for being in love with Cosette the way you are.”

“And now you’re in love yourself,” Marius teased, even sing-sang.

Enjolras laughed softly. “I don’t know if I would call it that, yet. I just really, really like spending time with Grantaire. But everything is really scary because you never know when it might end. Maybe my life leads me somewhere else. Maybe you’ll want to move in with Cosette when she’s back and then I’ll take that as my cue to leave Paris and try my luck somewhere else.”

“But… why? Aren’t you happy here? With us?” Marius reached over the table and gently squeezed his hand. “I know you have a trouble past. I don’t know what exactly, but I know you’re in pain, mentally and physically. If you ever feel like you’re not welcome or like a burden, please be rest assured that you are very welcome, that you’re not a burden. We all love having you around. Courfeyrac adores you, Combeferre admires you, Grantaire loves you, I believe. Please don’t leave.”

He smiled sadly and furiously wiped away some tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, Marius. I am happy here. Happier than I’ve ever been. Maybe one day I’ll tell you all about how I got here but it’s not really a fun story.”

“That’s alright.” Marius shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not a fan of comedies anyway.”

Enjolras chuckled and squeezed his hand. “If I don’t have to, I won’t leave.”

Maybe that was something he should tell Grantaire. But he still wasn’t convinced. Given the chance, would he stay or would he go? Enjolras pondered the question until late at night, even going as far as sending Montparnasse a message.

[Montparnasse] _Id rather die than go back to that fucking hypocritical place_

Well, that was an answer Enjolras could’ve guessed.

[Enjolras] _even with the pain and the senses and abilities?_

[Montparnasse] _yes. I’m treated like shit in either world but at least its more profitable down here_

[Montparnasse] _why do you ask??_

[Enjolras] _just curious_

[Montparnasse] _does the prodigy angel get doubts ;) ;) ;) honestly, Enj, just say fuck it. Fuck that omnipresence up in heaven. Sure theres the pain n shit but you’ve got a good life here. Don’t ruin it_

[Enjolras] _never thought I’d live to see that day. You giving me advice, would you look at that?_

[Montparnasse] _just don’t think too highly of me now_

[Enjolras] _wouldn’t dream of it!_

He smiled softly to himself. Maybe Montparnasse and him could become something akin to friends after all – bound to each other by fate. With that thought on mind, Enjolras fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next few days were dedicated to making a proper plan for the protest, something they could present to their friends at the next meeting. Enjolras was determined to have this protest be a success – after all, it was the first thing he had ever planned for Les Amis De L’ABC. He wanted his friends to be proud of him, even if that meant sitting hunched over different offers for stages of all kinds and sizes. It was incredible how much the costs differed. At some point during the night, Enjolras was close to just deciding that no one needed a stage anyway.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire complained at 4am, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stood in the doorway of his flat. “It’s too late. What are you doing?”

“Looking at the blueprint of the campus where the protest will be held so we can place our counter-protest strategically well.”

“There’s a blueprint for uni?” Grantaire shuffled closer and very, very carefully leaned his chin onto Enjolras’ head.

“Uhmm… it’s more Google Maps and less blueprint but it does its job. Why are you awake?”

“Had to pee, now I’m here. Can we go to sleep, please? I’m sure you’re tired.”

Enjolras sighed. “I am. But…”

“No Buts. Nothing can be so important that it can’t wait.”

“Chaton, I’d like to remind you of last weekend where you worked on that one panel of your comic for over five hours. So, don’t you chirp me, Monsieur.” Enjolras carefully turned around and tilted his head to kiss Grantaire softly. “Okay, let’s go to sleep.”

Grantaire helped him apply the tincture and dress the wounds before they settled into bed, Enjolras sprawled out on top of Grantaire. It was comfortable, comforting. Enjolras deeply enjoyed their nights together. He could finally satisfy his cravings for physical intimacy and it just felt so good. They’d found a way to work around Enjolras’ back problem though he was still incredibly warm whenever they shared a bed. Enjolras was happy – truly happy. When he had first fallen, he had never thought it possible but the support of his friends and Grantaire was overwhelming and much needed.

Their plan came along well and was approved by all their friends. Enjolras was incredibly proud of himself – finally he could do some more good, finally he could be a valuable asset to Les Amis. He was incredibly absorbed in his planning, eager to prove himself. Soon, the entire protest was fixed: they had organised a stage, sound equipment, had spoken to security, had gotten a permit and a few people who’d play music, had advertised the counter-protest via flyers and on Social Media. Enjolras was very much satisfied with his plan.

When the aforementioned day finally came, Enjolras was giddy as a child. He woke up at 5am, too nervous and excited to stay in bed. After three cups of tea, Enjolras felt in a good enough headspace to prepare a hearty breakfast for Marius and Grantaire. He waited anxiously until it was at least a little later, trying to read the news to pass the time but he simply couldn’t concentrate on a single word he was reading. He even tried it in different languages but to no avail. Came 7am, Enjolras crawled back into bed, pressing soft kisses along Grantaire’s stomach and up to his lips. Grantaire groaned softly.

“’s the time?”

“Early but I couldn’t sleep anymore and made breakfast. We have to head off in two and a half hours.” Enjolras kissed him lovingly.

“What kind of breakfast?”

“Breakfast which ruins our plans to buy a house.”

“You want to buy a house with me?” Grantaire grinned, quickly catching Enjolras’ lips in a kiss.

“Nope, because I like avocado too much to ever plan on having a house.”

Grantaire laughed and kissed his cheek. “Okay, let’s get breakfast. Are we waking Marius?”

“Yes, he deserves breakfast, too.” With a last kiss, Enjolras got out of bed again, quickly waking Marius without startling his friend too much.

Half an hour later, all three of them sat around the kitchen table, digging into the breakfast Enjolras had prepared. Marius was especially thankful for pancakes while Grantaire couldn’t stop joking about the avocado. He even went so far as to declare that his next art piece would be dedicated to the fruit. Maybe he could paint a guitar like an avocado or something similar. He was certain he’d think of something. Maybe a costume, to join Courfeyrac’s and Bahorel’s extravagant yoga costumes.

They had arranged to meet the others on campus, ready to build the stage. Of course, Enjolras couldn’t help with any physical work. So he was responsible for delegating everyone, making sure they kept to the schedule. The NGO he was working for had asked to set up a booth with informational flyers to promote their cause – no one had opposed to that, they were glad for their presence as that also meant the counter-protest was being promoted by France’s most well-known NGO.

Enjolras felt his entire body buzz with energy. He was excited and a bit scared. What if no one would come? What if too many Nazis were there, what if they would start attacking them, what if their counter-protest was fruitless? He also dreaded the day for another reason: his body. Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure how well he’d get through the day. It was damp and humid outside, something that made it hard for him to breathe. The humidity always easily settled into his joints, making them ache even more so than in the heat of summer. He had hoped the colder season would ease his pains a little – turned out they weren’t better, only different. He knew that any kind of excitement usually heightened his sensitivities so he hoped being on his feet wouldn’t be his downfall.

They had started their counter-protest earlier than the right-wing protest was supposed to start in hopes of gaining the upper hand as soon as possible. So far, it looked good. People filed in, gathered around the stage and the NGO’s booth, and soon their side of the campus was filled before any protesters of the opposition had even arrived. Enjolras talked to many of the assembled, promoted his NGO and Les Amis, invited at least a thousand (that’s what it felt like) people to the next meeting, hoping they’d come and support them.

It wasn’t long before the problems arose. The right-wing protesters started chanting slurs and began verbally attacking Enjolras and his friends. It was nothing they hadn’t heard before, nothing they hadn’t expected. Campus started to crowd soon and police was present everywhere. The atmosphere was tense, aggressive, especially when the first speeches started. During Courfeyrac’s speech, bottles began flying. Luckily, the speaker didn’t get hit but a few listeners in the audience were unfortunate enough. In the blink of an eye, hell broke loose.

Enjolras felt himself getting pushed against the side of the stage, sharp corners pressing painfully into his skin. Tears shot into his eyes and his breathing picked up suddenly. Shit. He couldn’t start to panic now! That wouldn’t help anyone! He heard shouts, voices picking up, screams. Everything started closing in on him; the people seemed to get too close, the air became too thick and his head started pounding. Distantly, as if through a thick fog, Enjolras felt himself be let away hastily. He didn’t know who was guiding him, stumbling along behind the figure. Concentrating on his steps, trying not to stumble, Enjolras was quickly disorientated and dizzy. The mist in his mind didn’t clear, not even when he was pushed down gently to sit on the cold and hard floor. Everything hurt, everything was too much. He had failed, he had lost control over the protest, had let his friends down, had not planned properly, had potentially hurt someone through his stupid idea of a counter-protest, had fucked up and was losing everything.

He was hyperventilating, crying. Everything hurt. His head, his back, his stomach. He had blind spots in his vision, everything was milky white and blurry. Enjolras felt the same weight on his shoulder he had felt in Notre-Dame and Sagrada Familia – he knew what it meant, a strange omnipresence of God surrounding him. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was doomed for eternity now, maybe he’d be sent down to hell because he had failed the simple task of helping the people. He had failed his test on Earth and now everything came crashing down.

Enjolras buried his face in his hands and hunched over, mumbling “I can’t do this anymore, I don’t want to, I can’t” over and over again.

“Enjolras,” the soothing voice of Grantaire rang in his ears.

Enjolras felt his warm hand on his arm, then on his hands, gently prying them away from his face.

“Hey. Hello. What do you need?”

Enjolras simply shook his head and took a shuddering breath. “I can’t, Taire, I can’t.”

“What can’t you do anymore? Do you want to tell me?”

“Earth. I know this is a punishment but I only ever meant well, I did, I’m so sorry, I tried my best, I don’t want to leave, I want to stay, please just let me stay.” He leaned further forward, his forehead pressing against Grantaire’s chest.

“Ange, it’s all okay. You don’t have to leave, nothing is a punishment. It’s all good, Enjolras. You’re safe. We’re away from the protests, our friends are safe, no one got arrested. I’m here with you.”

Enjolras shook his head vigorously. “You don’t understand! I’ve fallen so hard. Everything hurts, everything burns, I cannot breathe, I cannot… I… Grantaire… Everything is too much, has been too much since I’ve been on Earth and… oh, I don’t want to leave.”

“Ange, I can’t quite follow you. What are you trying to tell me?”

“God is real.” Enjolras drew back and looked at Grantaire. He sniffled a bit and tried to steady his breathing. His eyes were wide as he ran a shaky hand through his curls. “It’s all real.” He knew he probably wasn’t supposed to tell anyone but if this was the end, he was at least going to give Grantaire a proper explanation for everything. “Angels exist. I exist. But I’ve fallen, Grantaire, I feel. Montparnasse fell. He hates humanity, he never wanted to help, he worked to corrupt and he fell. Before I did but he did and now I’m here, too but I don’t think I will ever go back, I think I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up, Grantaire, I can’t…” He shook his head and stared at him.

“I don’t… I don’t think I understand?” Grantaire furrowed his brows and carefully squeezed Enjolrlas’ hands. “Say I believe you… I can see that with Montparnasse. He’s never been the happiest around people. But you? You love humanity. You love everyone, you want to help so badly. Why would you… fall?”

“I wanted to turn back time,” Enjolras laughed, a slight edge of hysterics to it. “I wanted to change something that has happened but we’re not allowed to meddle, only to help. It was so frustrating, Grantaire! I wanted to change lives, I wanted to be better, to be a helping hand, to really make people happy! But it was too much and I was cast out. I’m sorry I never told you. My body has such a hard time adjusting to Earth. Everything is too loud, too bright, too harsh. The wounds on my back? It’s where the wings used to be. It hurt so much, you have no idea. So so much. But I failed, you know? I thought… I thought I had a year! Until Cosette would come back! I thought if I could redeem myself, I could go home! But I failed and I can feel it. I can feel so much and it’s too much and…” He took a deep breath and gulped. “Can you believe me?”

“Can I believe that my bo--- that you would try everything in your power to help humanity even if it brings you trouble? Yes. Can I believe that you’re an angel? Not entirely sure but it would explain a lot. So…” He cleared his throat. “You want to go back then? Tried to redeem yourself?”

“Yes. I—I was convinced I could go back and do more good in Heaven than here on Earth. But now? Now that I’ll probably wake up in the morning and won’t wake up? No. I want to stay. I want to be with my friends, I want to help. I can make a difference! I want to be with you. I’m so tired, Grantaire. Part of me does want to go. Everything just hurts so much and I long for the day when it’s all over. I want the pain and exhaustion of Earth to end.”

Grantaire carefully wiped the tears away and kissed his forehead. “Okay. Okay. Let’s get you home, okay? Let’s have a last night together. Clean your wounds, calm you down. Tell everyone you love them and fall asleep in my arms. If you really think this is the end.”

“I believe so. I can feel the heaviness of my bones. I’m so dizzy, so tired. Grantaire, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Ange. Let’s get you home.”

It took them a considerable amount of effort to hurl Enjolras back to his flat. He was too exhausted to properly walk, felt too much to go by train. He had no idea how he actually got home, only felt Grantaire carefully peeling his shirt from his body as soon as they were in Enjolras’ room.

“Shit,” Grantaire murmured. “It’s all soaked in blood.”

Enjolras nodded lightly. “Happens sometimes. Just rip it off, I’ve done it before plenty.”

“What?” Grantaire sucked in a sharp breath. “Shit, Enjolras. Okay, concentrate on me, on my voice, alright?”

“Yeah.” His voice was a little slurry as he answered, trying his best to focus all his energy on Grantaire. But the pain never came. Instead, Grantaire cut off the shirt with scissors, removing the fabric as carefully as possible, all the while humming a soothing song under his breath. It lulled Enjolras into a state of calm, dozing off against Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Grantaire asked quietly.

“I want you to kiss me,” Enjolras mumbled. “I want you to know that you’ve made me so happy. I want you to stay, I want you to hold me and I want you to tell me you love me – no matter if it’s a lie. I want to hear it while I still can. I won’t get to heaven, Grantaire. But maybe there’s a way to contact you still, through Montparnasse. I don’t want to risk it though, so please, just…”

Grantaire gently cupped his cheeks and kissed him softly. “I love you and it’s not a lie. I love you and I believe you, even though it’s hard to believe. I love you and I believe in you, believe you’ll find a way.”

Enjolras pressed closer, kissing Grantaire feverishly. “I love you, too, and it’s not a lie. Can you tell our friends? They might not believe it and that’s okay. But tell them I didn’t want to leave? Can you apologise to Marius? For abandoning him, for not being able to pay rent, for never hugging him because of my back?”

“He’ll understand. They all will.”

Grantaire shifted, pulling Enjolras on top of himself. It wasn’t long before exhaustion took over and Enjolras fell asleep, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. Sleep lured him in like a skilful seductress, enveloping him wholly. He didn’t want to leave Earth. With his friends, he had found a group of people more like angels than any Angel he had ever met. They were good to the core, kind and pure. He wanted to stay with them but fate had decided against him.

His limbs were light, unusually so, after the last few months. For once, there was no pounding in his head, no nausea, no pain. When he blinked his eyes open, he was met with a blinding white light but it didn’t hurt his eyes. He could feel the sheets underneath his naked skin. It was soothing, soft and warm. He heard quiet noises coming from far off; there was a cool breeze ghosting over his exposed skin. Enjolras closed his eyes again, pressing them together firmly. Maybe it had all just been a dream. Maybe he had made up his life on Earth because right now? Everything felt exactly as it had in Heaven.

With a sudden thud heard, Enjolras opened his eyes in shock, staring right at Montparnasse standing in the doorway.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” he hissed. “I couldn’t feel you for two fucking days. I thought you’d gone back! Fuck you.”

Enjolras blinked in confusion and sat up. “I…” he croaked.

Behind Montparnasse, Grantaire emerged.

“Enjolras! You’re awake. Oh God, you’re awake!” He pushed past the other man and rushed to his side.

“Nothing hurts anymore,” Enjolras whispered. “Montparnasse? How… uhm…”

“I still hurt. But maybe you’ve done it. Maybe you’ve redeemed yourself. I’ll leave you to it.” Montparnasse threw a tentative smile in Enjolras’ direction before closing the door behind him.

It was the cue for Grantaire to sit down on the bed, to kiss Enjolras’ forehead.

“I think I made it,” Enjolras smiled softly. “I think I can stay.”

For his words, Enjolras was rewarded with a loving kiss, followed by a pair of strong arms wrapping around him. His first embrace and it was full of love and relief.


End file.
